


Words Fail

by SoManyJacks



Series: Where did all these nugs come from? [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Humor, Light Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Beta Read, Party Banter, Praise Kink, Smut, Spanking, almost canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 17:46:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 53,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoManyJacks/pseuds/SoManyJacks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian's words have always been his weapon and his shield. He is dismayed to find that there is someone who can take the words right out of his mouth. And a Qunari, no less. Vishante kaffas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sparring

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to [Dread Wolf's Legacy.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3702131/chapters/8192417) It should mostly stand on its own but I'll add references to the other work for those who are interested. Minor canon divergence, especially concerning in-game dialogue. Spoilers and all that, etc etc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accompanies [Chapter 6](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3702131/chapters/8418490) of Dread Wolf's Legacy.

Dorian strode through the Great Hall on his way to the Herald’s Rest. He was still reeling from the Inquisitor Lavellan’s confession that she had bedded the Iron Bull. Or, as he realized, perhaps it was the other way round. Still, to hear confirmation that the massive Qunari was... somewhat omnivorous in his tastes? Dorian had to find out for himself.

He’d only met the Bull once, when they first arrived at Skyhold. They had not gotten off to a particularly good start. Dorian had to admit that was his fault. He had no idea the Inquisition would have a Ben-Hassrath mercenary on retainer. The shock of facing down the enormous mountain of a warrior had sharpened Dorian’s tongue even more than normal. He vaguely recalled asking whether Bull was going to sew his mouth shut for being a mage.

“I’ll buy you dinner first,” Bull had replied sweetly. Inquisitor Lavellan had snorted with laughter, and that was that. Dorian assumed the whole thing had been a joke, not actual flirting. Since then he’d seen Bull, usually in the practice ring, sparring with Cullen or Cassandra, his huge muscles flexing, his laugh ringing through the courtyard.... Perhaps it was possible that Dorian had occasionally walked the battlements during these bouts, and purely by accident watched the way Bull’s muscles flexed alluringly as he stalked the ring. Coincidence, surely.

As Dorian walked down the steps from the Great Hall, his steps slowed a little, as the realization of what he was doing hit him. Was he really going to... what, just waltz into the place and proposition the Iron Bull? Clearly not. Dorian may have been an inveterate flirt, but he was not desperate. At least, that’s what he told himself.

Before Dorian could form a cohesive strategy, the point became moot. Bull was not in the tavern. He stood near the practice ring in the courtyard, talking to Commander Cullen and another warrior whose back was to the mage. To his surprise, Commander Cullen waved him over.

“Ah, Lord Pavus! Please, join us, won’t you?”

“It’s not _Lord,_ Commander. That honor, such as it is, belongs to my father. I am merely Dorian, Altus mage, Scion of House Pavus, at your command.” He gave a florid bow, waving his hand grandly in the air, being sure to position himself so that Bull could get a view of some of his finer attributes.

However, when Dorian rose, he was unable to determine whether the display had the intended effect, as the unknown warrior had turned around. Dorian found himself face-to-face with another Tevinter.

“ _Just_ an Altus, is it? _Merely_ the Scion? Too bad someone here knows what a load of bullshit that is.” The Tevinter sneered.

Bull grunted. “Dorian Pavus, meet my Lieutenant.”

The warrior rolled his shoulders and took a step closer to Dorian, coming dangerously close. “Cremisius Aclassi, Soporati warrior, at your service.” Without breaking eye contact, the man whipped his sword out, giving a crisp Tevinter salute. The blade whirred impossibly close to Dorian’s face; had he flinched even slightly, his cheek would be bleeding.

“Krem!” Bull barked.

“Sorry, chief. Old wounds twinge, you know.” He sheathed his sword and glanced at Dorian with a more neutral expression. “You have good reflexes, for a mage. Glad you didn’t flinch. Hate to scar that pretty face.”

“Glad you’re so good with your sword,” Dorian said, raising an eyebrow suggestively. When in doubt, flirt. Still, the sight of another Tevinter discomfited Dorian enormously. Krem stared him down as if he knew all of the mage’s secrets. Suddenly, all Dorian could think about were his father’s parting words. His stomach clenched.

“Ah, yes, quite,” Cullen coughed delicately. “Dorian, I’d like to ask for your assistance in helping to train our recruits. The Templars are used to dealing with Circle mages, not Tevinters. These Venatori fight completely differently.”

“Of course, Commander. I have a copy of my old battle training manual. I’d be happy to loan it to you.”

Bull laughed. “He’s not talking about books, ‘Vint. He’s talking about sparring. With me.”

Dorian blinked. For the first time, he allowed himself to truly look Bull up and down. Dorian was not a large man; he had the body of a dancer, not a warrior. Bull had almost a foot and a half on him, and was almost twice as wide. The Qunari’s forearms were almost the same circumference as Dorian’s thighs, for Maker’s sake. And his hands... something started to uncoil in Dorian’s stomach at the thought of what those hands could do to him. Lust mixed with the sour remembrance of shame that Krem had stirred in him; together they curdled in his gut.

Cullen cleared his throat. Dorian realized the Commander was waiting for him to respond. As if he had a choice. Dorian was not a stupid man; he knew his position in the Inquisition was tenuous at best. If he refused, it would surely be held against him as a sign that he was not committed to the cause. “I suppose that’s not a terrible idea. Are you sure you want to spar with me, Bull?”

Bull’s grin was wicked. “It’ll be good for the troops. I have more experience fighting ‘Vints than anyone here. I know how you fight.”

Something in the way he said _fight_ put even more thoughts into Dorian’s head.

“Ah...” Cullen cut in. “Can you be ready in an hour? I’ll assemble the troops.” Dorian wrested his gaze away from Bull to the Commander, who was now blushing an absolutely adorable shade of pink.

“I’ll get the Chargers. They’re not going to want to miss this,” Krem smirked. “Don’t worry, little Altus. I’m sure Bull will go easy on you.”

Dorian headed back to his quarters to change into armor. _Vishante kaffas,_ he thought to himself. What the hell had he just gotten himself into? Still, it was a chance to prove his worth. He’d only been at Skyhold two weeks. Aside from helping to keep the refugees warm on their trek through the mountains, he’d not had any opportunity to show his skill.

As a young man, Dorian had trained in Procella Dracona, or Dragonstorm, a Tevinter martial art that combined acrobatic combat techniques with magic. His father hadn’t approved of how much time he spent training. You’re to be a magister, not a battlemage, Halward had said. Dorian wondered if his father simply wanted him away from the other soldiers. Too much temptation, all those lithe bodies flinging themselves about. Still, he’d kept up with the exercises even after he left Tevinter, if for no other reason than to maintain his physique.

Dorian forcibly corralled his thoughts as he strapped himself into his armor. He picked the lighter apprentice gear, as it offered the most flexibility. It also showed the most skin, even more so because Dorian decided to forgo the hideous plaideweave overwrap. One shoulder and half his chest were therefore essentially bare, and there was nothing detracting from the way the supple leather hugged his legs. He tightened the straps one more time. “They want a show? I’ll give them a show.”

On the way down to the practice ring, he ran through drills in his head. He hadn’t sparred one-on-one in years. The tactics were a bit different. Necromancy was out, obviously. As were fear-based spells. Even watered down, he couldn’t risk using them in front of an audience, especially one that only barely tolerated his presence. Plus, he suspected they would be entirely ineffective against Bull anyway. Still, his opponent was enormous. Dorian had the advantage of agility, and knew how to use it.

Dorian stumbled to a halt when he re-entered the courtyard. There was a massive crowd gathered around the practice ring. Not only several dozen troops, but the Inquisitor’s inner circle, the Chargers, and at least a few dozen other onlookers hanging over the battlement walls. _Fasta vass. Well. Let’s all see what the ‘Vint can do. So that’s how it is._

The crowd quieted. Dorian descended the stairs slowly and deliberately; the mass of bodies parted to allow him to enter the ring. Cullen blinked in surprise at Dorian’s revealing armor. Maker, was there nothing that didn’t make the man blush?

“Ah... Yes. Good. Now, obviously, we’ll put some safeguards in place. Seeker Cassandra will ensure no magic escapes the ring. I trust you can control your... abilities sufficiently to not harm Bull?”

Bull barked a laugh. “He won’t need to.”

“Is that so?” Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “Awfully confident, aren’t we?” Dorian could swear the man winked at him, though, with one eye, it was hard to tell. He was dismayed to find that Bull also went light on the armor. The warrior was still wearing the atrocious trousers he favored and had added a light pauldron. Dorian found himself entranced by the pattern of tattoos across Bull’s distractingly tempting musculature.

“Whatever you’ve got, ‘Vint, I can take it.” Bull grinned.

“Ah, what he means is, Solas will keep a constant barrier around Bull, just in case.” The Commander said, nodding at the elf standing just outside the ring. “What staff do you favor?”

Dorian grinned, showing his teeth. Somehow, Bull’s goading had stirred up his competitive side. “Hmmm, that’s a good question.” Dorian made a show of leaning on one hip, one arm folded against his chest, the other propped up against his chin. He pretended to consider, running a thumb over his bottom lip as he made eye contact with the Qunari.

Bull’s eye tightened almost imperceptibly, gleaming.

“Lightning,” Dorian concluded.

“Mmm, good,” Bull nodded.

Dorian was handed a staff with a dulled blade. He rolled his shoulders, loosening up, then went through a few motions with the staff, twirling it to get a sense of balance. It was adequate. Barely. “Do you mind?” He asked Cullen, gesturing at a practice dummy outside the ring. “I’d like to get a feel first.”

“Wouldn’t we all?” Bull leered.

“Maker’s breath, what have I gotten myself into?” Cullen rolled his eyes, blushing. “Budge up, you lot! Give him some room.” The crowd parted.

Dorian strutted to the fence surrounding the practice ring and hopped it lazily. He turned, bowing to the assembled audience. As he rose, he whirled without warning, sending two bolts of lightning at the straw men. Dorian could tell the staff had been crafted for minimal damage. Still, both dummies erupted into flame as the shock hit the targets dead center. Dorian ignored the gasp that went through the crowd, examining the staff critically. “It’ll do,” he sighed. He turned back to the ring, waving his hand languidly behind him. The flames consuming the dummies were encased in solid ice. He snapped his fingers, and the ice became steam. The crowd tensed at the flagrant display of magic.

“Quit showing off, Dorian!” He heard Inquisitor Lavellan shout. A nervous titter trickled through the courtyard.

He found her face in the crowd, the only one grinning at him openly. Somehow, knowing that at least one person was rooting for him made Dorian feel a little better. “Must I? But I’m so good at it!” he called back. She winked at him.

Cullen stepped to the center of the ring. “Please remember, gentlemen, this is a training exercise. I’ll occasionally ask you to hold position so that I can point tactics out to the troops.” He backed out of the ring.

A blue haze enveloped Bull as Solas raised a barrier around the Qunari. In the next instant a dome of shimmering light appeared over the practice ring as Cassandra concentrated her spell-dampening ability. Dorian tested the field by sending a bolt straight up. It dissipated on impact. She nodded in satisfaction. “You may begin,” she said.

They circled each other for a moment. Dorian whirled the staff, shooting a bolt of lightning at Bull. The Qunari dodged it easily; Dorian expected as much.  What he had not expected was the easy grace hinted at in the huge warrior’s movement. Dorian’s eyes narrowed. He spun his staff from one side to the other as he shifted his weight and balance. Within that movement he sent a bolt at Bull’s chest without deliberately aiming. Bull again dodged it easily. “Nice,” he growled, grinning.

Dorian tilted his head at the compliment. Inwardly, he desperately began to revise his attack plan. He might’ve looked like a Bull, but the brute had the grace of a halla. Dorian made a showy leaping spin, the motion designed to attract attention to the body and away from the magic he pooled in one hand. He landed to the earth on one knee, charged hand on the ground. Fire wards appeared directly under where Bull’s next footfall would land.

Without blinking, Bull launched himself forward, using his axe as a prop to flip his huge bulk out of the range of the sigil. This also allowed him a two-footed kick towards Dorian, who bent backwards to dodge the Qunari’s blow.

Bull landed with his back to the mage, crouching low. The bolt of lightning that would have hit his back, had he not ducked, sizzled into the barrier instead.

Dorian executed a rising handspring, using his legs to kick himself to standing. Bull nodded appreciatively at the acrobatics. He charged the mage.

It was a simple charge, though frighteningly quick; Dorian moved to counter without even thinking. At the last second he dodged to the side under Bull’s raised arm to avoid the blow and brought his hand up to the Bull’s chest. Electricity sparkled in his fingers. Dorian had channeled the energy carefully. Bull should have been repulsed several feet back; instead, his forward motion was merely halted, leaving Dorian’s hand pressed up against his chest. Apparently Solas’ barrier was more effective than Dorian had bargained for. Dorian grumbled inwardly at the elf’s duplicity.

“HOLD!” Cullen’s voice rang out. The combatants froze, Dorian’s hand on Bull’s chest, Bull’s arms raised for a two-handed cleave, as the Commander pointed out the tactics to the troops.

Bull grinned at Dorian. “Nice moves.” Dorian’s face was only a few inches from his.

“You as well, Bull.” The mage reduced the crackling energy that was flowing through his hand.

“I didn’t say to stop, Dorian,” Bull said, his voice a low rumble. He smirked wickedly.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. Slowly, he increased the electricity flowing through his hand and into the Qunari’s chest. He could feel Bull’s breath get a little quicker, his muscles tighten. He upped the power even further.

Bull grunted in appreciation. Dorian’s eyes widened. Even with the barrier, Bull should’ve moved away from his hand by now.

“I told you, you don’t need to hold back.” Bull said from between gritted teeth.

They regarded each other, not breaking eye contact. Suddenly Dorian realized that Cullen was waiting for them.

“Any day, gentlemen,” Cullen’s voice called out pointedly. “Seeker, Solas, reset.”

They broke their positions, retreating to the opposite ends of the yard as the magical protections were released, then re-engaged.

The battle resumed with greater ferocity. Dorian was tested to his limit; though he was more agile than Bull, it was only by a little. How did the big lummox manage to move with such grace?

Dorian sprang into a front twisting flip to avoid a low sweep of Bull’s axe, aiming a bolt from his staff almost before he landed. This one narrowly missed, singeing Bull’s pauldron. Before he could congratulate himself at even that small gain, Bull had kicked back with his feet, tripping the mage. He landed flat on his back, the staff clattering out of his hand as the breath whooshed out of his lungs. Before he could blink, Bull was splayed on top of him, pinning his hands over his head.

“HOLD!” Cullen’s voice rang out once more.

“Really? Now?” Dorian protested under his breath at the humiliation of being pinned in front of everyone.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?” Bull rumbled.

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian muttered. “Don’t you ever bathe?” He tried to change the subject, as the feeling of Bull’s voice thundered through him.

Bull chuckled. “Sometimes. You want to watch, don’t you?”

Dorian gritted his teeth. He very much wanted to watch. Very much indeed. “I’d rather stand upwind,” he bluffed.

Bull grinned. “I think we’re almost done here. You’re still holding back, Dorian. Last round. Show me what you’ve got.”

“I _can’t,_ ” Dorian said, his jaw clenched. “Do you know what these Southern barbarians will do to me if they see the kind of power I wield? I won’t live through the night, Bull.”

“Ah.” Comprehension dawned in Bull’s face. The warrior broke the hold, giving Dorian a hand up. Dorian stretched a bit, then retrieved his staff, bending slowly to give himself time to think. This wasn’t even close to a fair fight. Dorian was trained in only one form of combat and could only use a handful of the spells at his command; Bull had several fighting techniques at his disposal, plus a lifetime as a warrior.

He turned back to Bull. To his surprise, the warrior held up his hand, calling for a delay. He approached Dorian.

“You’re a necromancer.” Bull kept his voice low and his face neutral.

Dorian’s shoulders sagged a bit. “I prefer ‘Mortalitasi’,” he hissed.

Bull clapped him on the shoulder and nodded. “Look, we gotta give these guys a good show. And you know I have to win.” He murmured the words into Dorian’s ear.

“Like that was ever in doubt?” Dorian said sourly. “This isn’t exactly an even match.”

“That’s because you’ve got one hand tied behind your back. I didn’t realize before. Look, you know Mind Blast? Fade Step? Energy Barrage?”

“Yes, of course,” Dorian snapped. “But I can’t -”

“Whoa there, killer. Believe it or not, I’m on your side, ‘Vint. Follow me, and we’ll both come out looking like winners.”

“Well whatever you do, hurry up,” Dorian said. “The mood here’s getting a little chilly.”

Indeed, there was a palpable air of tension as the crowd watched the opponents confer. Although the Chargers looked mildly confused by the delay, the Inquisition troops, especially the Templars, had looks of open hostility trained on the mage. Even the Inquisitor’s smile had dimmed, although that seemed to be more out of concern than anything else.

“Commander, permission to address the troops?” Bull’s voice carried through the courtyard.

“Granted!” Cullen called out, his eyebrows raised in curiosity at the unorthodox request.

“Inquisition troops! Chargers! Listen up!” Bull strode slowly around the inside of the ring. “The spar is one-one. Me and my little mage here are evenly matched.”

Dorian spluttered. “ _Your_ little mage? I beg your pardon!”

The Inquisitor, bless her soul, laughed with abandon. It quickly spread, especially since Bull grinned at Dorian openly. The tension in the crowd abated somewhat.

“Now,” Bull continued, still circling the ring. “I’ve been fighting Tevinter mages most of my life. You may not believe it, but Dorian here is holding back. You’ve already seen the best that most Venatori will throw at you and then some. But my _formidable opponent_ still has some tricks up his sleeve. And he doesn’t seem like the modest type.” Bull paused for laughter, which came easier this time. Dorian played to the crowd, bowing gallantly as Bull wrapped up his address.

“I’ve asked Dorian to showcase some advanced techniques. Under normal circumstances, this would be out of the question. Too dangerous. But Dorian here has a level of control I’ve never seen before. You are about to see some of the finest Tevinter spellcraft there is. I am honored to be able to fight at this man’s side.” Bull readied his axe and nodded to Seeker Cassandra and Solas.

Dorian blinked. He hadn’t been sure what Bull had in store, but open praise had not been on the top of the list. The shimmer of the barrier glowing against Bull’s skin snapped Dorian back to attention. Bull nodded.

Dorian cast Mind Blast directly at the Bull’s feet, simultaneously creating a barrier of pure force a few yards behind to catch the Qunari. Bull went flying backward, thudding against the energy Dorian put in place to protect him from the practice ring fence, which surely would have shattered under his bulk. He landed on one knee, launching himself at Dorian with a triumphant laugh.

It was too late. Even Bull’s superb reflexes were no match for Fade Step. Dorian passed through Bull’s body, dissipating the spell as he spun around to face the warrior once more. He released a massive burst of energy from his chest, the sigil burning brightly as pulses of energy raced toward the Qunari.

Dorian guessed that Bull had some way to counter the attack, but he didn’t wait to find out. He launched himself sideways through the air in a series of flips and kicks, propelling himself forward with extra bursts of magical force. He landed directly behind Bull’s broad back, to bring the blade of his staff up to slash at the man’s kidneys.

Once again, Bull was too quick. Dorian found himself being hoisted through the air by his own staff as Bull countered the move, grabbing Dorian’s weapon and heaving it like an axe, bringing the mage crashing to the ground on his back, knocking the wind out of him once more. Even as he flew through the air Dorian was dimly aware that Bull was fighting against the momentum of the swing; Dorian’s landing was much gentler than it should have been. Before he could process the thought, Bull swung Dorian’s own staff at him, the blade stopping within inches of Dorian’s throat.

They froze like that for a moment; Dorian gasping for breath, Bull looking down at him with... was that admiration? The mage couldn’t be sure, seeing as he was concentrating on moving air into his lungs.

Bull stabbed the staff into the dirt and leaned a hand down to help Dorian up. “Nicely done, little ‘Vint.”

There was a smattering of cheers and applause as Bull hoisted Dorian to his feet. Krem trotted up to them. “Good bout, Chief. And you’re full of surprises,” the lieutenant said to Dorian. “Dragonstorm, eh? Nice. Glad to see you’re not just an overblown peacock.”

“I’m glad you approve, Cremisius.”

“It’s Krem to you, Dorian.” With a nod at Bull, he strode out of the ring.

Dorian narrowed his eyes, unsure if that was an insult or a compliment. Bull clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, you got Krem’s attention. You’re a good sport, and a better fighter. I like that. Let me buy you a drink tonight.”

“I’ll think about it,” Dorian wheezed. “If I haven’t punctured a lung.”

“Good man.”

Lavellan scampered up to Dorian. “That was amazing! I knew it was the right decision to let you stay.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Dorian bowed his head. “I’m glad I’m not a disappointment.”

“Now, to important matters. You do know how to play Wicked Grace?” Lavellan grinned up at him.

“Ah... yes, Inquisitor.” Dorian was confused.

“Oh good. Vivienne and Solas absolutely refuse to play. It makes away missions so boring. I hope you like field work. You just volunteered for rather a lot of it, I’m afraid.” The Inquisitor reached up and patted one dusty cheek impishly.

“Fasta vass.” Dorian muttered, not for the last time.


	2. Herald's Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is hauled to the tavern and out again.

Dorian told himself he wouldn’t take Bull up on his offer of a drink. The sparring match had been rather more intense than he had bargained for. After the bout, the field was clotted with people congratulating Bull, as if Dorian had done nothing of note. Aside from his conversation with the Inquisitor and Krem, and a brief nod of thanks from Commander Cullen, Dorian was ignored, if not peered at with barely disguised hostility or fear.

 _What did you expect?_ he asked himself. When he fled Redcliffe ahead of the rebel mages, he knew that he might not be welcomed with open arms by the Inquisition. Still, he had not anticipated quite this level of simmering distrust.

Dorian made his way to the bathhouse. Best to soak off the grime of the practice ring. Then, perhaps a bottle of wine and a book. Just like every other night since arriving at Skyhold.

The bathhouse was unoccupied, the half-dozen large basins stood cold and empty. Southerners, he scoffed to himself. After he pumped water into a basin at the far edge of the room, Dorian stripped. He heated the water with a wave of his hand and sank in gratefully, resting his head on the edge of the basin.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but suddenly someone cleared their throat directly behind him. Dorian leapt around, splashing water everywhere, his hand full of flame.

Bull regarded him calmly, a towel over his arm. “Touchy,” he noted.

Dorian swore. How had this lummox snuck up on him? “You would be too, if you had an entire keep looking to sink a knife between your ribs as you slept.”

“Like I haven’t been there?” Bull tilted his head.

Dorian sighed an apology. “No, I suppose you know the feeling well.”

Bull nodded and began pumping water into the basin adjacent to Dorian.

“What are you doing?” Dorian’s voice had the barest hint of panic to it.

“Bathing,” Bull smirked. “As you so helpfully suggested earlier.”

Dorian watched the interplay of Bull’s muscles as he operated the water pump. After a second too long, he quipped back: “Well, at least you have the good sense to follow my lead on that, anyway.”

“If you say so, killer.” Bull unbuckled his belt and let his trousers drop to the floor unceremoniously.

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. He’d played this game many times at the bathhouses in Minrathous. He assessed Bull’s attributes with a discerning eye, keeping his face assembled in an expression of bored disinterest. His body, however, was very interested.

Bull grunted, looking down at the water in his tub. “I don’t suppose you’d....” He gestured at the basin.

“Oh, by all means,” Dorian said, heating the water with a wave of his hand.

“Ahhhhh,” Bull said, sinking into the basin. He’d overfilled it; water sloshed out of the tub on to the floor. “That’s it. Thanks, ‘Vint.”

Dorian sighed, closing his eyes. “ _Must_ you call me that?”

“What would you prefer I call you?” Bull chuckled.

“My _name_ is Dorian.” He closed his eyes and rested his head on the edge of the tub.

“Ah. So all that Altus Scion Pavus bullshit was... what, just for show?”

Dorian gritted his teeth. “Why does that attitude not surprise me, coming from you?”

“Hey. I picked my own name. I know how important names are.”

Dorian sighed. He had to admit the huge oaf had a point. Strong, graceful, and perceptive? How was this all even possible? Dorian opened one eye and looked over at Bull. “Fine. You win again. Is there any other way you’d like me to best me today?” He closed his eyes again.

There was a moment of heavy silence. Dorian opened his eyes, confused. He looked over. Bull was regarding him intently. The Qunari’s chest rose and fell in the water as he breathed.

Dorian quailed, actually shrinking away from the edge of the tub. “A figure of speech,” he stammered.

“If you say so, killer,” Bull said again. He left off his examination of Dorian and began to bathe himself in earnest. “Damn. Would you hand me the soap? I left it just there.” Bull hitched a thumb behind him on the floor.

“You must be joking,” Dorian said. “I’m not your servant.”

“Well, _you_ don’t have any soap at all,” Bull noted. “If you fetch it for me, I’ll share.” He grinned.

Dorian cast about. How had he forgotten to bring soap? With a glare at Bull, he clambered out of the tub, shivering as the cool mountain air hit his wet skin. He grabbed the soap and handed it to Bull.

The Qunari trapped his wrist on the edge of the tub, causing Dorian to bend down slightly. The Tevinter hissed at the sudden strength of the hold. Fury and a fair amount of lust rose at the back of his throat. He grabbed Bull’s forearm with his free hand, directing a weak blast of cold down to the Qunari’s skin.

Bull’s lips pulled up at the corner. He tightened his grip on the mage’s wrist. “Is that the best you’ve got, Dorian?”

Dorian wasn’t the type to back down from a challenge. He smirked and heated the water in Bull’s tub to just below scalding with a thought. Bull grunted in appreciation as tendrils of steam began to rise from the water. With lightning speed, Bull grabbed Dorian’s other hand, forcing the mage to bend down further. Dorian’s body started to take notice of things. A glance into the water was enough to indicate that Bull was also enjoying the moment.

Dorian raised an eyebrow; the surface of the water froze solid, though the water in the tub was hot enough to burn. Bull chuckled. “Nice.”

 _He’s Ben-Hassrath. He’s testing you. You already showed him how you fight, and now you’re showing him your magic, and your weakness._ The thoughts floated through Dorian’s mind. “Kaffas,” he swore, canceling the magic. He slumped as he realized how easily he’d been manipulated.

Bull immediately let go. Concern flitted across the Qunari’s face as Dorian shoved himself into his clothes.

“Sorry, Iron Bull. I don’t exactly know what it is you’re trying to do, but my position is too precarious to find out. I’ll... I’ll see you around.” Dorian paused to set his shoulders, then marched resolutely out of the room.

He didn’t return to his quarters. Instead, Dorian walked the battlements. When he’d begun the day, he’d had the idea of perhaps engaging in a roll with Bull, or at least a flirt. Quick, meaningless, no harm done. Maker knew it had been long enough since the last time he’d been with anyone. Between the sparring and the bath, Dorian had exposed much more of himself than he’d intended.

A raucous din wafted from the Herald’s Rest; the mage avoided it like the blight. Instead, he wandered down to the stables. Blackwall was there, carving a piece of wood near the fire. The Warden grunted a greeting as Dorian approached.

“Hello, Blackwall. Not drinking to commemorate my humiliation on the practice ring like the rest of Skyhold?” Dorian asked.

Blackwall snorted. “Hardly. It took great courage to spar with the Iron Bull.”

“It felt more like I was sparring with the crowd, to be honest.” Dorian sighed.

Blackwall left off his work for a moment. “It’s interesting watching you, Dorian. The way you carry yourself when you use magic. You find joy in it, not shame. And it shows. Something we ‘southerners’ need to learn, perhaps?”

Dorian blinked. “Maybe you’re not a complete moron.”

Blackwall rolled his eyes and resumed his work. “We were having a moment, and now you’ve ruined it.”

“I’m sorry, Blackwall. I didn’t mean to be so harsh. These last few weeks, everyone looking at me as if I was about to transform into a serpent at any second. It’s getting to me,” Dorian admitted.

“Give it time,” Blackwall recommended. “The Inquisitor trusts you, and we trust her. Eventually the rest of us 'southern morons' will catch up, you’ll see.”

It wasn’t much later when Dorian made ready for bed as he always did, double checking his locks, making sure his staff was in easy reach of his bed. He sighed. He wondered if Lavellan was still awake. Maker knows he could use the company.

Dorian figured if Vira was awake, she was probably with Solas, though what she saw in that dour elf was anyone’s guess. Oh well. Tomorrow was another day. Dorian uncorked a bottle and poured a generous glass for himself.

A knock on the door almost stopped his heart. No one visited him in his quarters. Hell, he wasn’t sure anyone knew where he slept, aside from the quartermaster.

“It’s me, Dorian.” Lavellan’s voice penetrated the heavy wood door.

Dorian unbolted the door. “Inquisitor! What a lovely surprise!” He summoned the light carefree demeanor, shaking it over himself like a cloak.

Vira Lavellan tilted her head at him. “Why aren’t you down at the tavern? We’re all expecting you.”

“Ah... yes, well, you know how it is, always best to leave them wanting more.” He grinned. It took every ounce of effort he could muster.

“Dorian,” Vira scolded. She folded her arms in front of her chest.

He sighed, abandoning the pretense. “Fine. Today was exceedingly difficult, Inquisitor. I’m not sure I have it in me to spread my dazzling charm over the entire tavern.” He retreated into the room, grabbing his goblet as he sat on the edge of the bed. He took a swig.

“Dorian,” Vira said again, and this time her voice was full of warmth. She closed the door behind her and knelt in front of the mage. “You’ve been here for weeks now. But you’ve hardly spoken to anyone. And you’re so fond of the sound of your own voice. It must be _killing_ you.”

Dorian laughed. “True. But what I’m not fond of is being surrounded by people who can barely find it in themselves to look at the ‘evil Magister’ without spitting at my feet. It does rather make conversation difficult.”

“Does Bull look at you that way?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted. “But he’s Ben-Hassrath, Inquisitor. No doubt buttering me up to catalog my every strength and weakness.”

“I trust Bull. You know I read all the reports he sends to the Qun, right?” Vira said.

Dorian frowned. “No, I didn’t know that. Still, what’s to stop him from sending whatever information about me is locked up in that horned skull of his after this is all over and he’s no longer in your employ? Once my usefulness here is played out, and I’m roaming the Maker-forsaken south on my own?”

“Hmmm, good point,” Vira said, nodding in exaggerated agreement. “So, what you need are friends, allies that you can trust.”

“Yes, and those are in rather short supply,” Dorian snapped.

Vira ignored his tone. “Powerful, well-connected friends who would look out for you against the Qun,” she mused. “Well, you’ll certainly have an easy time finding friends like that holed up in your quarters, pouting.”

Dorian blinked at her.

“Dorian, please believe me when I tell you that I deeply understand how painful it is to be without a clan. But the first step in getting people to _trust_ you is to allow them to _know_ you. Now. I believe there is a tavern full of people who are utterly bereft at the lack of your sparkling presence.” Vira rose and held out her arm.

Dorian sighed and put his hand in the crook of her elbow. “Have it your way, Inquisitor.”

“I always do.”

The mood in the Herald’s Rest was rowdy, enough so that the arrival of the Tevinter and the Inquisitor went almost unnoticed. Vira procured a few tankards of Cabot’s reserve ale for herself and Dorian, guiding the mage by the elbow to a slightly quieter table in the corner.

“Dorian!” Bull roared. “You made it!” The Qunari rose and gestured him over.

Dorian gave a resigned sigh and sat next to the Qunari. “Hello, Bull. Varric. Cullen.” He greeted them each in turn with a small nod.

“Sera will no doubt join us at some point. And you missed Cassandra, I’m afraid,” Vira said, sitting next to Cullen. Dorian noticed that Cullen looked like he might bolt at any second.

“I wouldn’t say I ‘missed’ her, Inquisitor,” Dorian said, taking a sip from his mug. He frowned. It was surprisingly tasty. He resented it, for some reason.

Varric laughed. “I knew I liked you, Sparkler.”

Bull laid an arm around Dorian’s shoulder. “We were just talking about how well you did in the practice ring today.”

“Which part? The part where the Templars wanted to rip me to shreds, or the part where you humiliated me in front of everyone?” Dorian grumbled sourly, taking another drink.

Varric looked at him in surprise. “You didn’t tell him?” The dwarf asked Bull, his eyebrows raised skeptically.

“What, and give away all my secrets?” Bull scoffed.

Cullen grinned at Dorian. “If you’d come up on the other side of Bull with that last move, you would’ve had him. It was brilliant.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. Of course. He’d come up on Bull’s right side. If he’d come up on the left, Bull wouldn’t have been able to see him. “Wonderful. Thank you for pointing out that I didn’t take such an obvious advantage.”

“Hey now,” Bull demurred. “You were _amazing._ How many years has it been since you’ve had formal training?”

“Seven,” Dorian admitted.

Varric whistled in appreciation. “Sparkler, you more than held your own.”

“I’ll say,” Cullen agreed. “You might think the Templars had murder in their eyes, but most of them were just jealous of the way you move. Maker’s breath, I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve had more than a few requests for lighter armor since this afternoon, believe me.”

“To Dorian!” Vira raised her tankard.

The group clinked mugs. As everyone else drank, Vira mouthed “I told you so,” to the reluctant Tevinter.

The evening wore on. One tankard somehow turned into three, then five. Dorian couldn’t tell which was more surprising - his appreciation for the bitter brew or the easy way the Inquisitor’s companions accepted him into the fold.

Bull hardly strayed from his side all night. Though he didn’t seem to be paying Dorian any more attention than any of the other people around the table, his huge hands seemed to find excuses to clap Dorian on the shoulder or pat him on the back. It had been a long time since Dorian had felt so welcomed. He didn’t exactly trust it, not yet, but he could feel his resolve slipping away.

“You know, I meant every word I said today.” Bull leaned a little closer than necessary to talk to the mage. Somehow, the table was empty - the others were refilling drinks or relieving themselves.

“What words do you mean?” Dorian asked delicately. “The part where you called me little? Or accused me of wanting to watch you bathe?”

“All of it. You’ve got excellent control, Dorian. I’m impressed. When you cast mind blast, I felt that net you put up behind to catch me. It was almost soft. You didn’t need to do that.” Bull had trained all of his attention on Dorian.

The Tevinter fought to hide the shudder that ran through him at the intensity of Bull’s gaze. “I’m glad you appreciate my talent, Bull.”

“That’s not all I appreciate.” The Qunari leaned even closer. “The way you _move,_ Dorian.” He grunted, the sound conveying all sorts of appreciation, only a few of which were military in nature.

“I do rather enjoy training,” Dorian admitted. “My ravishing good looks deserve the very best body I can provide, wouldn’t you say?”

Bull laughed, once again clapping Dorian on the back. This time, however, he let his hand linger, just below the nape of the mage’s neck. “So,” he said, leaning a bit closer, “that little trick, that force barrier....” Bull’s thumb began to make small, almost imperceptible circles along Dorian’s hairline, sending shivers through him.

“What about it?” Dorian asked. Between the glow of companionship, the beer, and the heat radiating off Bull’s chest, whatever shreds of resolve he had left were slipping very fast.

“How tight can you make that? How small of an area?” Bull casually rested a hand on Dorian’s knee.

Dorian turned to face Bull. A glance under the table showed that there was definitely something stirring within the striped monstrosity Bull called trousers. Dorian raised a thumb to his bottom lip, slowly dragging it across his skin. At the same moment, he created a small area of force directly around Bull’s groin, cupping it with magic.

Bull grunted appreciatively, his eye gleaming. He shifted his weight a bit. Though the motion seemed innocent, Dorian knew Bull was actually rubbing himself against the invisible barrier. The Bull grinned wickedly.

Dorian’s answering smirk was just as wicked. He added a frisson of heat to the field.

Bull actually groaned. “Oh, my pretty little mage, the things I’m going to do to you.”

“Is that so?” Dorian tilted his head to the side innocently. He added the faintest hint of electricity to the field, little ripples of static.

Bull took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “If we don’t leave right this instant, I’m going to bend you over the table and take you right here.”

“I think one show a day is my limit, Bull.” He let the field dissipate. “I’ll just pay my respects to our illustrious Inquisitor. I’ll meet you outside.”

Dorian made his way to the bar, leaving Bull at the table to deal with the aftereffects of the magic. Bull’s trousers were quite loose, after all. Dorian guessed it would be several minutes before he could stand without his arousal being obvious to everyone. Plus there was no point in telegraphing his plans to the entire tavern by leaving with Bull. A lifetime of deception when it came to matters of the bedroom had ingrained the habit of leaving separately; it was second nature.

Lavellan was leaning on the bar between Sera and Varric. “Hello, Dorian,” she said pleasantly. “Glad to see you making friends.”

He nodded. “As always, your wisdom knows no bounds, Inquisitor. But I think I’m going to call it a night. It has been a very trying day.”

“Leaving alone, then, eh?” Sera said.

“Of course, Sera. What a thing to suggest.” Dorian bluffed.

“You sure about that, Sparkler?” Varric was looking behind Dorian.

Dorian turned to see Bull striding toward him. Whatever state he might have been in a moment ago, he appeared to have recovered himself. Without slowing, the Qunari dipped his shoulder, hoisting the mage like a sack of grain. Dorian’s protests could be heard for several minutes, fading as Bull carried him through the courtyard.

Lavellan held out her hand. Sera and Varric both deposited a sovereign into her waiting palm. 


	3. A Slight Delay in the Proceedings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's first night with Bull does not go at all according to plan.

Bull carried Dorian to his quarters, ignoring the mage’s increasingly shrill protests. “Down you go, pretty little mage,” he said, dumping Dorian on to his bed.

“Well, I never,” Dorian said. He looked around the room curiously. “How come your quarters are so much larger than mine?”

Bull’s grin was wicked. “Because I’m so much bigger than you.” Somehow Bull had made even that simple statement sound dirty. “Now, if you value that shiny little outfit, you’ll get out of it quickly. I tend to rip things when I get excited.”

Dorian swallowed hard. This was not like the clandestine, secretive encounters to which he was accustomed. “Ah,” he floundered, rendered temporarily speechless.

Bull ceased his slow advance on Dorian, assessing his body language. After a slight pause, he grabbed a chair and spun it around, straddling it, putting the back of the chair between himself and the discomfited mage. “What’s the matter, Dorian? If you don’t want to, it’s fine. No hard feelings.”

“No, I want to very, very much, it’s just...” Dorian paused. _It’s just that I’m intimidated. It’s just that I’m nervous. It’s just that I haven’t been with anyone in ages. It’s just that I’m not sure I’ll be any good. It’s just that I’m still not sure you don’t want to kill me._ The doubts roiled through him.

He suddenly realized that Bull was regarding him calmly. Whatever aura of lust the Qunari was able to conjure, he could apparently dispel it just as easily. “This isn’t what you’re used to.” Bull said at last. “And it’s been a long time, unless I miss my guess.”

Dorian huffed. “I’ll thank you to not continually read my thoughts. There are some things a man likes to keep private, you know.”

“You’re not gonna like Cole very much, then.” Bull tilted his head, the slight gesture rendered enormous by his horns. “How long has it been?”

“That’s no business of yours, Bull.”

“How... long?” Bull’s voice had the faintest snap of command to it.

Dorian felt a spark of heat ignite in his belly at the sound. “Three years,” he whispered. Dorian cleared his throat. “In a coat closet at a salon, to be precise, between cocktails and canapes.” He had a sudden recollection of his final encounter with Antonius, an older magister and friend of Alexius. Their trysts had occurred in secret whenever the two of them attended the same social events. They were always brief, hurried affairs, usually not even allowing for the proper removal of clothes. Antonius would often whisper how sinful Dorian was, how depraved for seeking pleasure in the man’s hand, how filthy for taking enjoyment in sucking the older man’s cock. While it was happening, Dorian found it to be arousing, though after the words would curdle in his stomach. Still, desperation makes it difficult to be choosy, and it wasn’t until Antonius left for Vyrantium that Dorian stopped seeing him.

A wellspring of shame bloomed in Dorian; he felt his chest clench tight at the memories. Suddenly he was once again aware that Bull had gotten him to reveal himself. “Kaffas,” he muttered to himself. “This was a mistake.” He began to push himself off the bed.

“No,” Bull said.

Dorian blinked in shock. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s not a mistake. I don’t make mistakes. Not about this.” Bull said. He rose and sat on the bed, back to the headboard, one arm held out. “Come here,” he said.

“What?” Dorian was legitimately confused. “Surely you’re not asking me to _cuddle?_ ”

“Dorian. Come. Here.”

Shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all, Dorian obediently scooched into the hollow of Bull’s arm. He wasn’t sure where to put his hands.

Bull gently took Dorian’s hand and wrapped it around his stomach, then pressed the mage’s shoulder to his chest. It was surprisingly comfortable. “So this is cuddling, eh? Quite comfy, really. I can see why people like it.”

“Three years, in a coat closet. That is some pretty messed up shit right there, Dorian.” Bull’s voice rumbled through his chest; Dorian found it quite pleasant. “Is that why you ran out of the bath earlier?”

“No.” Dorian said honestly. “I thought it was some sort of Ben-Hassrath trick.”

Bull chuckled. “I don’t need to seduce people to learn their secrets.”

“Clearly not,” the mage agreed. “You’ve already had most of mine. Would you like to hear about the time my father locked me in the basement for a week because he found me kissing the Soporati boy next door? It’s a wonderful tale. I’ll give you a hint to how it ends: while I was locked up, the other boy died. Somehow found a way to hang himself with both hands tied behind his back. An amazing feat.”

“Dorian,” Bull said. “My turn to talk. Listen.”

Dorian quieted while the Bull spoke: “I can give you what you need, pretty mage. I can make you feel so good you’ll forget whatever messed-up bullshit the Tevinter empire drilled into that gorgeous head of yours. But you have to _want_ it. You have to want it with every fucking inch of that beautiful body. And if you’re not ready, that’s fine. Maybe you’ll never be ready. Hell, we can just keep flirting till the end of time, and if that’s as far as you want to take it, that’s fine too.”

Bull made no move to touch or caress Dorian, instead opting to let his words wash over the mage curled next to him. “For now, I think you should sleep. It’s been a long day for you, my pretty little mage.”

Dorian struggled to come to terms with the welter of feelings churning through him: desire, shame, fatigue, distrust, all simmering in a stew of bitter Ferelden ale. “Perhaps you’re right, Bull,” Dorian said. “I am quite tired.” He began to push himself up.

“Who said anything about leaving? Sleep here. I’ll keep you warm.” Bull said.

“You’re joking,” Dorian said.

“I’m not joking. Trust me.” Bull said. “It’ll do you a world of good.”

“I’m sorry, did I just hear the Ben-Hassrath mercenary ask the Tevinter mage to trust him? Perhaps my hearing is going,” Dorian said.

“Look, you can either shut up, take off your shiny outfit, and get the warmest night of rest you’ve had since we got here, or you can keep telling yourself that I’m out to get you, go back to your cold, lonely bed, and try not to think about how good this feels.” Bull said.

This time Dorian really did push himself up, so that he could stare incredulously at Bull. “You are simply _infuriating._ This is _madness._ ” Yet somehow Dorian found his fingers fumbling with the buckles on his shirt.

He stripped down to his underthings. Bull, meanwhile, appeared not to favor such unnecessary garments. When Dorian turned back to the bed, Bull had doffed his trousers and lay naked with the blanket over him.

“Dorian, you are fucking gorgeous,” Bull growled, taking in the sight of Dorian’s lithe, muscled form.

Open, sincere praise was not something Dorian was used to, and he found himself without a rejoinder at the ready. However, before he floundered for too long, Bull held up his arm again. “Come on, in you get.”

The ridiculousness of the situation finally got to Dorian as he settled in next to Bull. He began to laugh.

“Dorian. Quit laughing. Go to sleep.” Bull’s eye was already closed. “Oh, and put out the candles, would you? I’m too comfortable to get up.”

“Yes, Bull,” Dorian sighed, snuffing the candles with a flick of his wrist.

The next morning, Dorian opened one eye, looking around in confusion. He was still nestled up next to Bull. He could feel the giant man’s chest rising and falling under his cheek, smell his scent of leather and pine. A glance at the window revealed the early morning sun streaming in through the narrow window.

“You’re awake,” Bull said quietly.

“I don’t particularly want to be,” Dorian said. “It’s entirely too early. My head hurts. I refuse to accept it.”

Bull chuckled. He carefully removed himself from under Dorian’s arm.

“Where are you going?” Dorian asked, hoping that Bull would somehow fail to notice the tinge of disappointment in his voice. Somehow that did not seem likely.

“I’ll be back in a bit, pretty little mage. Sleep.” Bull laid a hand on Dorian’s shoulder.

Dorian hunched under the blanket, hoarding the residue of warmth left by Bull. He dozed for a while until the utter absurdity of the situation slammed into him. Now, in the sober, frigid morning, and without Bull’s voice issuing casual commands, Dorian broke out in a cold sweat. What the hell was he doing in a Qunari’s bed? Did he expect Bull to bring him breakfast?

Dorian hauled himself up. He yanked his clothes on, noting with displeasure the nausea and dizziness of a hangover. He realized he had no idea where in the keep he was, or what lay outside the door. His view to the quarters had been obscured by darkness, ale, and being hauled about upside down. For all he knew it lead directly into the Great Hall. With a last deep breath he assembled his expression into calm superiority, then opened the door confidently and walked outside.

The door did not, in fact, lead to the Great Hall, but on to a walkway along the battlements, a walkway that was currently unoccupied. “Thank the Maker,” he muttered, and strode to his quarters. As he walked he became increasingly annoyed at himself. The whole thing was just so _wrong,_ on every possible level.

Once in his quarters, he retrieved a fresh set of clothes and headed to the baths. Two baths in two days was a lot even for the fastidious Tevinter, but then, usually Dorian didn’t find the Iron Bull’s distinctive leather-and-pine scent clinging doggedly to his skin.

As usual, the baths were empty. This time, Dorian was sure to bring soap as well as bath oils. He scrubbed himself briskly, muttering self-directed invectives the entire time.

“You seem pretty clean to me, pretty little mage.” Bull’s voice sounded from directly behind him. The Qunari was holding something behind his back.

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian yelped. “Does sneaking up on me fulfill some deep-seated need in you to scare the ‘Vint?”

“It’s more about getting to see you blush,” Bull said. “You trying to clean off my Qunari stink?”

“You don’t -” Dorian’s snappy reply came to his lips all too quickly. “You don’t stink, Bull,” he said in a calmer voice. The statement had the air of a confession.

“Neither do you. In fact, you smell fucking delicious.” Bull regarded the mage. “Cinnamon... sandalwood... and a hint of ...”

“Embrium,” Dorian supplied. “I make it myself. I came to the south with nothing. But I refuse to allow myself to smell like a Fereldan, like... mud, and dogs, and... muddy dogs,” he finished somewhat lamely.

Bull said nothing.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” Dorian said irritably.

Bull pulled his hand from behind his back. He held a teacup out to the mage. “I thought you might need this. Didn’t think I was going to have to chase you all over the keep. It’s gone cold.”

Dorian sipped the tea. “Elfroot?”

“It’ll help with the hangover. And any aches and pains from our sparring yesterday. You did go down a couple times. Though not as many times as I’d have liked.” Bull smirked.

Dorian gave Bull a hard look and slurped his tea noisily. He had to admit, he did feel better. “How did you convince the healers to part with this?”

“I didn’t. I picked it myself, this morning. There’s a little spot outside the walls where the snow can’t reach. It grows there. And before you ask, yes, I’d do the same for any one of my boys, or the companions. Enjoy your bath, pretty little mage.” Bull smiled and walked out.

Dorian spent the rest of the day hiding, quite literally. The last thing he wanted was to run into any of the Inquisitor’s inner circle, much less Lavellan herself. The previous evening had ended with a grand display. It would sound impossible to say that nothing had happened between himself and the Iron Bull save a good night’s sleep. Dorian wasn’t sure what was worse - the idea that he would tell the truth and be thought lying, or to lie and have it be accepted without question.

Luckily, Dorian had discovered an unused chamber off the garden. He’d ducked into it during the first week when trying to avoid Mother Giselle. Aside from the usual dusty junk, it contained a large Elven mirror, covered by a drop cloth. After his bath, Dorian took a few books to the chamber and settled in.

The mirror was magic; that much was obvious as soon as the mage approached it. Still, it was the course of wisdom to defer to caution when dealing with unknown magical objects. He was sure that Solas would know what purpose the mirror served, but there was no way he would give the that sour elf the satisfaction of explaining it. Hence, Dorian shut himself in the room and began his research.

The sun was beginning to dip low over the mountains. Dorian rose, working the kinks out of his back. He felt stiff and sore from yesterday’s exertions. A quick round of stretches was just the thing.

With the ease of long practice, Dorian cycled through the basic forms of his training. The exercises were designed to work all the major muscle groups and improve balance. His body responded to the motions, the slight soreness from the sparring yesterday almost a pleasant counterpoint, a reminder of his ability. He decided to do a few of the more advanced moves as well. If yesterday was any indication, working on behalf of the Inquisition was going to involve much more combat than he originally anticipated.

The door opened just as he was rising into a handstand. It was Bull, bearing a bottle and a covered tray that smelled of food.

“Is that how you got so gorgeous, pretty little mage?” Bull smirked.

“No, I was born gorgeous. This is how I maintain it,” Dorian said. He moved his legs into a perfect split and back to vertical. His core twitched with effort, but the motion in his legs was smooth. Once the form was completed, he flexed his arms, springing back to standing. If he wobbled slightly on the landing, Bull made no mention.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding out all day,” Bull said. “Seems a bit rustic for you.”

“I’m not _hiding,_ I’m doing important research.” Dorian protested. It probably would’ve been more believable had his stomach not rumbled loudly. Whatever Bull had on the tray smelled delicious. Dorian realized he hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

“Uh huh,” Bull nodded. “Well, I brought you some food.” He pulled the cover off the tray. There were two bowls of steaming stew and a loaf of bread.

“And a bottle of no-doubt dreadful wine. Bull, how thoughtful.”

Bull grinned. “I do what I can.”

A frown creased Dorian’s forehead. “You can’t tell me you’d do this for one of the Chargers.”

“Nope. This is just for you, pretty little mage.”

“Why?” Dorian hadn’t meant his tone to be so accusatory.

Bull raised an eyebrow. “I respect you, Dorian. You’ve shown courage in coming to the Inquisition. I’m an outsider too, but I have my boys. You’re all alone, and from Tevinter, no less. You’re talented and one hell of a fighter. And if I hadn’t mentioned before, fucking beautiful.”

“I do seem to recall you saying something to that effect, yes.” Dorian smiled. He waved to the little nest he had carved for himself among the rubble.

They made themselves comfortable on the dusty canvas and tatty rugs Dorian had piled to keep the chill off the stone floor. Dorian forced himself to eat in a civilized manner, despite his desire to shovel the stew into his mouth as quickly as possible. “What kind of meat is this? It’s delectable.”

“Ram,” Bull said. “Vira always has us take down a few when we visit the Hinterlands.”

“It’s so tender,” Dorian marveled. “Amazing.”

Bull yanked the stopper from the bottle and handed it to Dorian.

“What, no cut crystal goblets? Bull, I am disappointed.” He took an experimental sip. “Where did you get this?” Dorian demanded.

Bull’s grin had none of the overtones of wickedness or sarcasm. He genuinely seemed to delight in the mage’s surprise. “It was in the a locked storeroom in Therinfal Redoubt. I figured it was good, so I might have let a few bottles fall into my bag.”

“Good? It’s _spectacular._ I only wish we had proper glasses to allow it to breathe.” Dorian held the bottle up to his nose. “Well well well, Bull. I do have to say, this is probably the finest meal I’ve had since I left Minrathous. I can’t thank you enough. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were wooing me.” He took a long sip and handed the bottle over to Bull.

“And what if I am?” The warrior took a pull from the bottle.

“You don’t seem the wooing type, frankly.” Dorian took a bite of his stew. “Not that I’d know what it was like, myself.”

“Hey now. Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Bull warned. “I don’t mind putting a little extra effort in, if it gets me something worthwhile.”

Dorian merely shook his head and took another pull from the bottle.

“What?” Bull said. “You don’t think you’re worthwhile?”

“Well, of _course_ I do, Iron Bull. I merely express _surprise_ that a great brute like yourself is able to appreciate it.” Dorian knew the bravado would ring false; still, what choice did he have? He sopped up the dregs of the stew with a bit of bread.

Dorian raised the bottle to his lips and drank. He passed it back to Bull, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What happens now?”

Bull took another swig. “What do you want to happen?” He handed the bottle back, now mostly empty.

“Well, this isn’t exactly a coat closet, but I think I can make do,” Dorian said, holding the bottle up to the window. “Hmm, quite a bit of sediment in this one,” he said appraisingly. “That’s a good sign.” He carefully drained the rest of the wine and set the bottle down.

They stared at each other for a moment. Bull broke the silence. “Dorian. Come here.”

Dorian began to push himself to standing. “No,” Bull said. “Not like that.”

Raising one exquisite eyebrow, Dorian crawled on his hands and knees to the Qunari. There was nothing submissive in his movements; he moved like a tiger stalking prey.

Bull growled in appreciation. When the mage got close enough, Bull wrapped his huge hands around Dorian’s torso, pulling him close while simultaneously laying backwards, so that the mage was splayed atop his body.

“You okay with this, little one?” Bull breathed the question into Dorian’s ear, following it up by dragging his teeth along mage’s earlobe.

Dorian moaned. “Entirely.”

Bull pulled away, his face serious. “At any point, if you want to stop, you tell me.” His voice brooked no compromise.

Dorian nodded enthusiastically.

“Good,” Bull’s voice was heavy with satisfaction. “Can’t wait for you to come undone for me.” He bit Dorian’s neck, just below the jawline.

Dorian gave a gasping moan. He wondered, idly, if Bull could feel his growing hardness through his leather trousers.

Bull’s answering chuckle intimated that he probably could. What’s more, Dorian could feel Bull stirring as well, the thin fabric transmitting every twitch and shift.

Bull’s huge hands, meanwhile, had begun to roam freely across Dorian’s body. One explored his back; the other carded through Dorian’s hair, pulling it taut, coaxing another gasp from the mage’s lips.

Bull hummed in appreciation. “Gonna make you feel so good, little one.” With practiced skill, Bull shifted his weight, flipping Dorian around to lay under him.

Bull’s hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere at once. Dorian could hardly focus on the sensations Bull was causing: the teeth rasping his collarbone, the palms tracing the swell of his ass, the tongue swirling across his earlobe, the fingers lightly slipping along his iliac groove.

But then Bull deftly undid the clasp of his trousers. The Qunari stroked the straining flesh, massaging the sensitive glans. It was too much. It had been so long since anyone had touched him, much less with such skill. Dorian found himself racing towards the peak all too soon. He bit his lip, whimpering, desperately trying to hold himself back.

“It’s okay, little one,” Bull said. “Come, Dorian.”

The sound of the Bull’s voice was enough to send Dorian over the edge. He bucked wildly into Bull’s hand, gasping his release.

“Mmmm,” Bull said. “I was right. You are fucking gorgeous when you come, little one.”

The Bull’s words softened the burgeoning embarrassment Dorian felt for his lack of control. The Qunari held the mage close until the worst of the trembling was over.

“Dorian,” Bull said finally. “I’d like you to come back to my quarters.”

“Am I allowed to walk of my own volition, this time?” Dorian attempted to summon at least a vestige of self-control.

Bull pulled him up by one hand. “We’ll see.”


	4. Conquest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull and Dorian continue what they started.

The most direct route to Bull’s quarters was also through the busiest parts of the stronghold. Dorian wondered idly what it must look like, the enormous Qunari leading the Tevinter mage by the hand, as one would a recalcitrant child.

“Well if it isn’t Tiny and Sparkler!”

Dorian groaned at the sound of Varric’s voice.

“Hey, Varric,” Bull stopped to greet the dwarf on the landing in front of the Great Hall. The landing with the view of the entire courtyard, currently teeming with people. “How’s it going?” He made no move to release his grip on Dorian, as if holding hands was the most natural thing in the world.

Dorian tugged experimentally, just to see what would happen. Bull’s grip tightened around his wrist. The Qunari shook his head slightly, a wicked grin on his face.

“Good, good,” Varric said. “Cat got your tongue, Sparkler?”

Dorian gave a resigned sigh. “Hello, Varric, pleasant day isn’t it, lovely weather we’re having, et cetera, et cetera.” He looked over his shoulder; people were staring. He glanced up. Wonderful. Vivienne gazed down at them from her balcony.

“It is rather a lovely day,” Varric said. He followed Dorian’s line of sight. “Enjoying the sunset, Madame du Fer?” The dwarf called to Vivienne.

“Quite.” Vivienne raised one exquisite eyebrow before heading into the Hall.

“It’s the mountain air,” Bull agreed mildly. “Really sets off the clouds. Wouldn’t you say, Dorian?”

“Yes, yes, stunning.” Dorian sighed and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Was there anything in _particular_ you needed, Varric?”

“In a hurry to get somewhere, Sparkler? Patience is a virtue, you know.”

Bull nodded. “He’s got a point there.”

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, squeezing his eyes shut. “I _ran,_ you know. I ran all the way from _Redcliffe_. And this is the thanks I get. _Sass._ Sass from a _dwarf.”_

Varric laughed in delight. “You really need to spend more time out here with the rest of us, Dorian. You fit right in. Anyway, yes, I do in fact have a message from our illustrious leader. You, me, and Tiny here are headed to the Fallow Mire, day after next. Hope you like Wicked Grace.”

Thankfully, no one else stopped them for a chat. Once inside Bull’s room, Dorian had an instant of self-doubt, as the question _what am I doing here?_ began to whisper in his mind. There wasn’t an opportunity for it to take hold, though, as Bull immediately wove his fingers into Dorian’s hair, pulling it to one side, hard, and practically attacking the exposed neck with his teeth and tongue. He moved them both backwards, shoving Dorian roughly to the wall.

Before he could even blink, really, Bull had hoisted both hands over his head, holding the mage's narrow wrists in one grip. His other hand cupped Dorian through his trousers, taking him from half hard to fully erect. Dorian found that he was panting.

“This is how it works,” Bull growled. “I’m going to make you feel so good, pretty little mage. Gonna tear you to pieces.” He punctuated the statement by running his thumb up and down alongside Dorian’s cock, not quite a stroke.

“Yes,” Dorian breathed, grinding his hips against Bull.

“If it gets too much, you say ‘katoh’. Unless I hear katoh, I keep going. You can beg and plead and shout, but only katoh ends it. You understand?”

“Katoh,” Dorian repeated. It was difficult to form any words; lust had rendered him mute.

Bull grunted in satisfaction. “Clothes off. Wanna see all of you, gorgeous.”

He released Dorian’s hands. The mage fumbled with the buckles and straps on his shirt. His clothes were selected for fashion, not easy access. He muttered curses at himself for picking that outfit.

Bull’s hands were in his hair again. Dorian hissed with pleasure at the sensation. His fingers stuttered to a halt as Bull sank his teeth into the nape of his neck. “Too slow, pretty little mage.” Bull growled into his ear now. “You’ve got about five seconds before I rip those robes off you.”

Dorian raced to disrobe. As soon as his trousers were unclasped Bull yanked them to the floor, kneeling behind Dorian. Even on his knees, Bull’s face came almost up to Dorian’s shoulder. He nipped and bit at Dorian’s back.

The foreign sensation was very, very arousing to Dorian. His legs began to tremble,  threatening his balance.  

“I’ve got you, Dorian,” Bull said into his skin. He brought one arm up to curl loosely around Dorian’s chest; the other stroked the mage's cock.

Dorian was making quiet sounds, gasps, almost-words, half-whispers. He twisted his hands together, desperate to do something aside from just stand there and accept the sensations coursing through him.

Bull laughed. “Aw, my little one is fidgety. Can’t have that. Arms behind your back, elbows bent.”

“I don’t...” Dorian whispered, confused until Bull hooked his horns through the crook of Dorian’s elbows. “Hang on, pretty little mage.” He resumed stroking Dorian, firm, slow strokes that kept the rising tide just at bay.

Dorian tried to buck into Bull’s hand, increase the pressure to end the torment of the slow caress. He was rewarded with a bite just between his shoulder blades. Bull did not let go, either. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but Dorian was rendered almost entirely immobile. Any movement would increase the pressure of Bull’s teeth on the sensitive skin on his back.

“Yes, please. Please. Please. Yes.” Dorian whispered, little pleading breaths. “Oh, please, Bull. Please.”

Bull increased the pace ever so slightly, enough to tease.

“Please,” Dorian begged, his voice a quiet whimper. “I can’t. I can’t.”

The grip became just a bit firmer, but Dorian needed more.

Dorian moaned now, biting his lip. At the sound, Bull increased the pace of his stroke. “Yes, yes, please, Bull. Please.” His voice was still quiet, but no longer a whisper.

So close now. “Kaffas, Bull, please,” Dorian groaned loudly. “I’m... I need...”

At that, Bull stopped teasing, pumping with his hand, his arm gripping Dorian tight, his teeth still worrying the skin between Dorian’s shoulder blades.

Dorian hit the edge. Just as he tipped over, Bull bit down, hard, enough to leave a mark. Dorian’s head snapped back as he came, shouting towards the ceiling.

With shuddering gasps, Dorian recovered himself. He was trembling like a leaf.

“You sound as good as you look when you come, pretty little mage.” Bull’s voice rumbled behind him. He kissed the spot where his teeth had latched on. “You’re going to have a mark tomorrow. My mark.”

Dorian shivered, the motion drawing another chuckle out of Bull. He rose, spun the mage around to face him, and grabbed his wrists with one hand. “Let’s see what that pretty mouth can do. On your knees, little one.”

Dorian was glad for the opportunity to not stand; he wasn’t sure how much longer his legs would hold out. He pulled his hands as he sank down, confused when Bull didn’t let go. He looked up.

Bull grinned down at him and shook his head. Dorian tugged harder; Bull’s grip increased. It didn’t hurt, exactly, although it wasn’t comfortable. Dorian stopped pulling and Bull’s grip decreased.

“Glad we understand one another,” Bull said. He put his free hand on the back of Dorian’s head. “Now, let me see that beautiful mouth around my cock.”

He did not need to be told twice. Dorian let out a small moan as he rubbed his lips and cheek along Bull, lapping eagerly at him, leaning down to nuzzle where the shaft met his body, his tongue darting out to tease. Finally, he wrapped his lips around the head and slowly sucked Bull into his mouth.

Bull chuckled. “Mmm, you look so good down there. Damn, little mage, you’re perfect. Dorian, you were made to suck my cock. It’s gonna get hard for you to say anything. You want me to stop, you raise one finger.”

Dorian nodded, then gasped as Bull’s grip on his hair tightened. He relaxed his jaw as Bull pushed into him, just brushing the edges of what Dorian could take. He groaned as Bull withdrew, holding Dorian just out of reach. The mage held his lips open, waiting. His hips started making motions of their own accord and he began to harden again, as he stared at the prize just out of reach. 

And then Bull was thrusting forward. This time, Dorian added a small ripple of electrical current along his tongue, a vague tingling, as he sucked eagerly.

“Oh fuck that’s good,” Bull groaned. “Fuck, Dorian, that’s perfect.” His thrusts became faster as he took the mage’s mouth. Dorian concentrated on breathing, no longer attempting to move his tongue or lips. Bull sensed the change and thrust even further, holding himself in Dorian’s mouth. Five seconds. Ten. Tears began to prick at the corner of his eyes.

Bull yanked himself away with a grunt, leaving Dorian gasping for air. “So good, little one. Much as I wanna fill that pretty mouth, that’ll have to wait for another day. Up you get.”

Dorian rose. “What... what are we...?” Somehow he couldn’t form the words.

“Oh, little one. Did I fuck the words right outta that gorgeous mouth? On the bed, on your back.”

Dorian complied, although even in his lust-fueled euphoria, he was confused. Bull, meanwhile, yanked open the drawer to his nightstand and retrieved a small vial.

“You know what I’m gonna do to you now, little one,” Bull smirked as he knelt between the mage’s legs.

At the momentary panic that flashed across Dorian’s face, Bull froze for an instant. Within a heartbeat, the predator became the healer. He reached out to caress Dorian’s cheek. “You know how to stop me,” Bull said.

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut in shame. He hadn’t meant to telegraph his doubt. “Yes,” he managed to whisper.

“Have you done this?” Bull did not cease his gentle caresses, stroking Dorian’s face, running his hands to tousle the sweat-soaked hair.

There was a long pause. “No,” Dorian said finally, his voice breaking. He opened his eyes and looked at Bull.

Bull looked down at him with something close to adoration. “You are so gorgeous, Dorian. So perfect for me.” His fingers continued their caresses, now languid, gentle.

Dorian realized Bull was giving him an opportunity to say katoh. He took a shuddering breath, ignoring the prickling sensation in his eyes and sinuses. “I....” The sound was hardly audible.

“What, pretty little mage? What do you want? Tell me. No, don’t close your eyes.”

Dorian fought to say the words while looking at Bull. Andraste’s ass, why was it so difficult? “I.... I want....” He huffed, taking a deep breath to reset. “I want you to fuck me, Bull.”

Bull smiled, exhaling a satisfied sigh. “You are so fucking gorgeous right now, little one. Amazing.”

Dorian’s cock twitched. Bull glanced down at it. “I think I need to have a taste of my pretty little mage, first.”

Bull leaned down with agonizing slowness. He lifted Dorian’s length with his hand, exposing the sensitive glans. He licked, dragging his tongue slowly. His lips curled into a smile as Dorian groaned, his cock stiffening fully at the sensation.

Bull took Dorian into his mouth fully, sucking in earnest. “Oh, fuck,” Dorian breathed. “Yes. Yes.” He arched his hips into Bull’s mouth, writhing in pleasure, dimly aware that Bull was moving his hands about.

A moment later he realized why, as a slicked finger began to probe him, just pressing gently on the tight aperture. Dorian spread his legs wider, eager. Bull moaned appreciatively into his cock, sending Dorian further into a tailspin of pleasure.

And then Bull’s finger was inside him, slowly stretching the tensed band of muscle. Bull left off sucking, leaning his bulk to lay alongside Dorian, propped up on one elbow. His voice began to rumble into Dorian’s ear.

“Mmm, that’s good, little one. That’s it. Open yourself up to me. Relax, pretty mage. Does it feel good?” Bull crooked his finger.

An explosion of pleasure shot through Dorian as his prostate was stimulated. He’d heard of such things, of course, but to experience it was another thing entirely.

“Mmm, it’s good, right? I knew you’d like it. Like having me inside you. Stretching you open. Making that gorgeous ass mine.” Bull’s voice washed over Dorian like a benediction.

“Can you take another, little one? Can you take me?” Bull hovered at the entrance, two fingers pushing slowly. At Dorian’s eager nod, Bull pushed into him.

Dorian convulsed at the sensation, burning, stretching. His mouth opened in a silent moan.

“Breathe, little one. Relax. I’ve got you. I’m here.” Bull’s voice slammed Dorian back to earth, grounding him. He fought to comply, regulating his breath, bearing down to relax his straining body.

“That’s it. That’s it.” Bull reassured him. “See, it feels good, doesn’t it?” He once again brushed against Dorian’s prostate, causing the mage to whimper and buck.

“You think that feels good, little one, wait till I’m all the way inside you. Taking that gorgeous ass. Gonna take you apart and put you back together, pretty mage. I can’t wait to hear you beg for it.”

A third finger was introduced, somehow. “That’s it, little mage. Breathe. I’ve got you. You can take it. Relax.”

Dorian fought to focus. Bull ran a finger lightly over his cock, making the mage moan and buck, unwittingly pulling Bull’s fingers deeper in.

“Fuck, Dorian. You are so perfect for me,” Bull groaned.

Dorian felt Bull pull his fingers away, and then there was another pressure being guided in.

“Eyes open, little one. Look at me.”

Dorian forced himself to look at Bull. The reverence on the Qunari’s face was almost too much to bear. His breath caught in his chest.

“Breathe, Dorian. Stay with me. I’m here.” The pressure seemed impossibly tight.

Dorian forced himself to breathe. “Yes,” he gasped, staring into Bull’s face.

That word seemed to undo the usually unflappable Bull. He groaned loudly, the sound uncoiling something within Dorian. Then Bull was past the entrance, and began the slow climb to the hilt.

“Damn, Dorian. You feel so good. So tight.” Bull grunted, shaking his horns. “Could get used to this.”

Dorian was making small sounds, breathy exhalations that weren’t quite words. He turned his face to the side, closing his eyes.

“No,” Bull rumbled, grasping Dorian’s cheeks. He pulled the mage to face him. “Look at me, Dorian. Eyes open. I want to see your face as I fuck you.”

Dorian almost choked with lust as he felt the Qunari stretch him open. And then he felt something inside him shift. He met Bull’s gaze, no longer ashamed or afraid, his eyes full of wonder at the sensations wracking through his body.

“Oh, fuck. Dorian. You are so fucking gorgeous. Perfect. So perfect, the way you take me.” Bull shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe it. He leaned back, changing the angle of his thrusts slightly.

Dorian moaned softly as Bull dragged himself across his prostate once more, the sound ending in an incoherent whimpered babble. “Yesyesyes please Bull yes pleasepleaseplease.”

Bull’s breathing was heavy, intent. He brought his hand up to stroke Dorian as he thrust into the mage’s ass. “Come Dorian. Come for me. Look at me. Let me see you come.”

Dorian strove to meet Bull’s gaze. It was too much. Whatever control he had evaporated. He screamed his release into Bull’s hand. It wasn’t the quick peak of pleasure he was used to, the lightning bolt. This was thunder, endless rolling waves that seemed to have no end as he clenched around Bull’s cock.

Bull grunted in satisfaction. His thrusts became animalistic; he growled as he bottomed out, clawing at Dorian’s ass and thighs as he spurted into the mage.

After a moment, Bull pulled out of him. Dorian felt strangely empty, although the relief was unmistakable. Then Bull was there with a damp cloth, cleaning him gently, almost a caress.

Once he was done, Bull manhandled Dorian into a more comfortable position, cuddled on his side against the Qunari. After another long moment, Dorian felt that he could speak again.

He cleared his throat. “So. I suppose I see what all the fuss is about.”

Bull’s rumbling laugh was a balm. “I suppose you do.”

There was another moment of silence. Then, Bull spoke. “You’re very quiet, Dorian.”

The Tevinter knew what was implied. “You learn to be quiet, when you have no choice. Coat closets aren’t exactly the best place for shouting, Bull.”

Bull took a deep breath. “Is it always...?”

Dorian shook his head. “Oh no. If you’re willing to force a slave, you can make as much noise as you please. That never seemed a good option to me, however.”

“Damn,” Bull swore. He kissed the top of Dorian’s head.

Dorian began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Bull asked.

“I just realized, we’ve never even kissed,” Dorian said. “Kind of an important step, don’t you think?”

“Ah,” Bull said. “About that. I’m... not a huge fan, to be honest.”

Dorian pushed himself up to look at Bull. “You don’t like _kissing?_ Who doesn’t like kissing?”

“Qunari have an exceptionally strong sense of smell and taste. Kissing usually means subjecting yourself to whatever your partner ate or drank over the course of the last day or so. It’s not exactly sexy.” Bull explained.

“I suppose that makes sense,” Dorian sighed. “Too bad for you, though. It’s really something, let me tell you.”

Bull chuckled. “Maybe someday I’ll make an exception for you, pretty little mage.”

Dorian’s chest constricted at the thought. A vestige of a remembrance of an emotion revealed itself. _No,_ the Tevinter told himself. _Not possible._

“That... won’t be necessary, Bull,” Dorian forced the words to his lips.


	5. Breaking the Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian goes on his first Inquisition field mission, to the Fallow Mire.

Dorian once again woke early, nestled between Bull’s arm and his chest. The sunlight had the gall to shine directly on to his face. This never happened in his own quarters, where he had the good sense to locate the bed well away from the window. Soldiers. What _was_ their obsession with rising early?

He slowly pushed himself up. Bull was already awake, assessing Dorian with that calm expression he so frequently wore. “How do you feel? Sore?”

Dorian stretched. “A bit,” he admitted. He rose carefully. With his back to Bull, Dorian stretched his hands over his head and then bent at the waist, sighing in satisfaction as his spine popped.

“Wish you could see how beautiful you look right now,” Bull said. “My mark on that perfect body.”

Once again, the praise rendered Dorian temporarily speechless. He turned back to Bull, shaking his head, an incredulous smile on his face.

Bull grinned. “Can’t believe I figured out how to get you to stop yapping.”

“Well, it’s just nice to hear someone state the _obvious_ , for once.” Dorian finally managed. He pulled on his trousers and shirt. “That was... certainly an interesting night, Bull.” Dorian realized this was his first awkward morning-after conversation. The thought saddened him slightly.

If Bull noticed the flicker that shadowed his face, he ignored it. “Anytime you want another round, you know where to find me, killer.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Who knows? Stranger things have happened,” Dorian said. He opened the door to the keep, squinting slightly at the bright sun. He paused at the threshold, turning as if to speak. Instead, he just shook his head and walked out, closing the door behind him.

After a thorough wash-up and a shave, Dorian walked into the dining hall with a jaunty air, eager for a distraction from the rising tide of doubt that was growing inside him. Normally, the dining hall was almost vacant by the time Dorian rose. Thus he was caught off guard when he walked straight into a bustling crowd.

“Hello, Sparkler,” Varric called out, waving him over to a table. A table full of people - Cullen, Sera, the Inquisitor, Cassandra, and Maker help him, Vivienne. Most of whom were looking at him with various “I-know-what-you-did-last-night” expressions. Aaaaand Bull was there. Fantastic.

“Varric!” Dorian greeted him with exaggerated enthusiasm. “My favorite sassy dwarf.” He took a seat at the table and helped himself to some fruit and cheese. “I should get up early more often. I had no idea that we had apples.”

“You are awake very early, Dorian,” Cassandra said. She and Vivienne seemed to be the only ones not attempting to hold in a laugh.

“Yes, well, have to get ready for the Fallow Mire,” Dorian said. “Pass the tea, would you?”

If pauses could be said to be pregnant, the one that followed was about to give birth to septuplets. Lavellan looked like she might burst from holding back the giggles.

“So! Dorian,” Bull said from across the table. “About last night...”

Dorian groaned. “Discretion isn’t your thing, is it?”

The Inquisitor dissolved into peals of laughter, as did Sera.

“Three times!” Bull exclaimed.

Cullen choked on his tea, spluttering it down the front of his ceremonial breastplate. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered, dabbing at the mess. “Three times?”

Bull tilted his head in concern. “Also, your silky underthings, do you want them back, or did you leave those like a token? Or...wait, did you ‘forget’ them so you'd have an excuse to come back? You sly dog!”

Cassandra’s mouth hung open in shock, and her head volleyed back and forth as she looked between Bull and Dorian.

Vivienne sniffed in disdain and rolled her eyes. She turned to Dorian. “How did you make it past the trousers, dear? He’s like an ambulatory circus tent. You must have an amazingly strong stomach.”

“That’s not all he’s got!” Sera yelled, dissolving into yet more giggles.

“That doesn’t even... what?” Dorian frowned in confusion at the elf.

Leliana approached the table. “What’s all this?”

“Dorian... and Bull!” Sera hooted.

“Ah yes,” Leliana smiled knowingly. “Doing your part to foster relations between Tevinter and the Qun. Commendable. Shall I have Josephine write up a proclamation?”

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian said. He bit into the apple and glared at Bull across the table.

The Fallow Mire proved to be even more dismal than its name implied. Absolutely dreadful. Dorian was miserable. Though it was warmer than Skyhold, the dripping wet of the Mire soaked everything. Plus, the undead were simply everywhere, shambling at them in seemingly endless waves if one so much as stepped in a puddle.

And then there was Bull. It did seem rather a lot to ask, that they should be forced into a field mission so soon after... After what? Dorian still didn’t quite know what to think of their encounter, much less what to call it. Bull seemed quite content to leave Dorian alone for the most part. He still flirted, but it was more like the easy banter that the Qunari shared with Varric and Lavellan than the intense attention he had shown Dorian previously.

By the time Lavellan led them to the Avvar stronghold, the battle with the chieftain’s son seemed an afterthought compared to the sea of undead. After freeing the Inquisition soldiers, the party returned to camp. Their ranks had been swelled considerably, so they were forced to share tents. Lavellan, predictably, opted to bunk with Varric, batting her eyelashes sweetly at Dorian. “You can thank me later,” she said to him under her voice as she clambered into her tent.

Dorian’s response was to put off going to bed for as long as possible. Perhaps Bull would be sleeping by the time he retired. He wandered the mire, collecting the blood lotus that grew there like a weed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Bull again. He wanted it very much indeed, could think of practically nothing else, in fact.

But the fact that he craved it so badly galled him, somehow. He was no longer in Tevinter. He was free to pursue whomever he chose. There were more than a few options in Skyhold for him to consider. Not the least of which was Hawke. The Champion was in Skyhold right now in fact, preparing to travel to Crestwood to meet his Warden contact. Dorian had met Hawke as he walked the battlements the day before his fateful spar with Bull.

Sparks had flown there. If they hadn’t been careful, they might have literally flown. The man was handsome almost to a fault, witty, sarcastic, and talented. Certainly someone Dorian was interested in. Hawke’s interest was also quite apparent. If Varric hadn’t been there, rolling his eyes and rubbing his forehead melodramatically, things would have progressed in rather the usual manner. So why couldn’t Dorian get the memory of Bull’s scent, his touch, his taste, out of his mind?

The moon was high in the sky when he returned, muddy and exhausted. He dumped an armload of blood lotus on the requisition table and stumbled to his tent. If Bull was awake, he gave no indication. Perhaps Dorian could simply slip into his bedroll without incident. He stripped out of his sopping clothes and under his blankets as quietly as possible.

“Blood lotus, eh?” Bull’s voice rumbled quietly.

“Fasta vass,” Dorian hissed. “You could at least have the courtesy to let me know you’re awake,” he whispered. “How did you know I was collecting blood lotus?”

“I can smell it all over you,” Bull said. Something in his voice made Dorian’s insides start to unwind. “I can feel you shivering. Come here,” Bull ordered.

Grumbling in Tevene, Dorian obeyed. Bull wrapped the mage around his body, putting both blankets on top of them. “Isn’t that better, pretty little mage?”

Dorian desperately wished his body hadn’t become so attuned to those words. He was sure Bull could feel the twitch against his thigh.

“Something on your mind, pretty little mage?” Another twitch. This time there could be no mistaking it. Dorian sighed in disappointment as his body betrayed him.

Bull chuckled very quietly. “Why do you fight with yourself so much, Dorian?”

Dorian felt his stomach clench. It was too much. Even if he wanted to answer, which he most certainly did not, he _couldn’t._ Just by asking the question, Dorian was forced to confront the idea that there was something inside himself, not even a feeling - the _potential_ for a feeling. That faintest hint of emotion, a whisper, nothing more, the heartbeat of a frightened bird, the reflection of a firefly in a still pond. And that was impossible. _Impossible._ He refused to even consider it. He shook his head slightly.

Bull got very quiet. “I’m sorry, Dorian. I shouldn’t have asked.”

For several minutes, they lay quietly. Finally, Bull broke the silence again. “Will you be able to fall asleep?”

_Kaffas._ Why did the oaf have to be so frighteningly perceptive? Dorian shook his head again, deeply ashamed by... what, exactly? His lack of ability to sleep? Before he could get lost in a whirlpool of thinking, Dorian felt Bull moving, shifting Dorian’s body to lay directly on top of him.

“Come on, little one,” Bull whispered. “My gorgeous, perfect little mage.”

Dorian could feel Bull’s stiffening cock laying next to his, the silk of his smallclothes sliding between them. He gasped against the skin of Bull’s chest, nuzzling and licking and kissing as far as he could reach.

Bull’s hands were on Dorian’s hips, guiding him up and down so that his cock rubbed against the silk. The Qunari kept up a steady stream of whispers, almost inaudible, yet loud enough to drown out the thoughts of shame and doubt that had begun to swirl through Dorian’s mind.

Bull brought up one hand to Dorian’s mouth. The mage sucked eagerly at two fingers as Bull slid them in and out of his lips in time to the motion of their bodies.

“Fuck, yes, that’s so good, Dorian. Gonna make you feel so good. That’s it, little one. Let it happen, that’s it. Come for me, Dorian. Let me hear you.”

Dorian’s thighs quivered against Bull, his mouth sucking hard on his fingers. He fought to maintain some semblance of control, not wanting to be heard, not wanting the others to know. Some deep part of him realized this was ridiculous; they already knew.

“Stop fighting it, Dorian. You’re going to come for me, and you’re going to let me hear that gorgeous moan.” Bull’s voice was no longer a whisper but a very low murmur.

At the sound of the command in Bull’s voice, Dorian’s control was shattered. He did moan, loudly, once, as his hips juddered with release.

Bull issued a breathy grunt. Before Dorian could recover completely, he pushed the mage down by the shoulders. “You know what I like, Dorian.”

Dorian did, indeed. He sucked Bull into his mouth, using his magic to add the tiny tingles that Bull seemed to crave. Dorian pulsed his tongue along Bull, bringing up a hand to stroke the Qunari’s formidable length, adding just a hint of heat to the palm of his hand.

It was Bull’s turn to come undone. He hissed as he spilled into Dorian’s mouth. After, he pulled Dorian up to lay across his chest. “So perfect, little one.”

Dorian fell asleep within a few moments, warm and spent.

It was three more days till they returned to Skyhold. Each night, Bull coaxed a single moan from Dorian, with his hands or mouth, the smell of blood lotus surrounding them. Bull did not ask again what caused Dorian to fight so hard against himself, what there was in him that needed to be mute, why his words failed, scattering like frightened birds. Bull merely took what Dorian could give.


	6. The Word that Ends It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Bull return from the Fallow Mire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst! So much angst. Concurrent with Chapter 7 of Dread Wolf's Legacy, for those of you playing along at home.

After what seemed a lifetime of wet muck in the Fallow Mire, Skyhold was positively welcoming. Well, not specifically welcoming to _Dorian._ He caught more than a few distrustful glances as he rode through the gates. Still. It was dry, there were baths and fires and fur blankets and wine. Could be worse.

Dorian practically ran to the bathhouse, eager to soak away the cold mud. He sank gratefully into the steaming water, also thankful for the peace and quiet of the perpetually empty baths. Though he was happy to be accepted into the banter of Lavellan and her companions, it was a bit of a shock after weeks of near-solitude.

Dorian specifically avoided thinking about the Iron Bull. He definitely did not think about how one part of him wanted nothing more than to curl up by the brute’s side every night, while the other part wanted to run screaming back to Minrathous, as far away from the Qunari as he could get.

No. There were none of those thoughts. Only the bliss of hot water. And silence. Blessed silence.

Only it wasn’t silent. There were footsteps and the voice of a sassy dwarf. “Hey, Sparkler.” Then the sound of water being pumped into a basin.

Dorian didn’t open his eyes. “Hello Varric. I can heat the water for you if you like.”

“Why, Sparkler, that would be lovely.”

Dorian opened one eye and squinted towards the basin. He waved his hand. “If it’s not hot enough, let me know.”

Varric clambered into the tub. “Perfect. You’re too good for me, you know that.”

“I _do,_ in fact,” Dorian sighed. Clearly his dream of a few moments of silence was just that. Dorian opened his eyes and began to actually wash. He knew it wouldn’t be long before the dwarf could no longer contain his deep-seated need to pry into everyone’s life.

After a few moments of splashing in amiable silence, Dorian gave up waiting. “Well?” he sighed.

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me some disturbingly personal questions, which you’ll no doubt use as fodder for your books?”

“Sparkler, I’m offended.” Varric said in a tone that indicated he was not at all offended. “If you _want_ to talk about what’s going on between you and Bull, I’m happy to listen, but I’m not gonna _pry.”_

Dorian sighed. Maybe he did want to talk. He’d come to appreciate Varric’s insight during their mission. Even the sass was growing on him. “I have no idea what’s going on,” he admitted.

“Is that because you’re confused, or because you refuse to think about it too hard?”

Dorian laughed. “How frustratingly accurate. Unfortunately, the answer to both is ‘yes’.”

“I figured,” Varric nodded pleasantly.

“Am I such an open book?” Dorian asked, almost to himself.

“Sparkler, I write romance all the time. I know how it goes.”

Dorian spluttered. “Romance? _Romance??_ Let me assure you, whatever is going on between Bull and myself, it is not _romantic._ We’re merely exploring some physical attraction, nothing more.”

“Oh, so you do know what’s going on,” Varric grinned. “And you keep telling yourself that, Sparkler. Eventually you’ll believe it.”

Dorian sighed. “Well, as always, it’s been a sassy pleasure, Varric.” He rose from the bath, interrupting the awkward moment. “I’m off to find warm clothes, warmer food, and a drink.”

The first two were easy enough to locate. The third, alas, would require a trip to the tavern, as his private stash of wine had been depleted. The tavern where Bull and the Chargers tended to spend their time. Perhaps he didn’t need that drink so badly after all.

That thought brought him up short. Why should he avoid the place? It’s not as if he was deliberately seeking out the man, chasing him through Skyhold like some lovesick puppy. He was going to enjoy a drink by the fire, that was that. He even brought a book.

The arguments he made to himself proved to be moot: the Herald’s Rest was almost deserted. Relief and disappointment washed through him in equal measure.

Cabot nodded at Dorian as he entered. “Ale?”

“Not tonight, I think. Mulled wine. It’s that kind of a night.” He watched as the bartender prepared the drink, warming it by sticking a hot poker into the liquid. “You can leave the bottle, Cabot. I can warm the rest myself. Where is everyone tonight?”

“Down with the troops. Celebrating the homecoming with a couple casks.” Cabot went back to wiping the bar.

 _Well, of course,_ Dorian thought. That was the whole point of the blasted mission, after all. Rescuing the soldiers. It’s not like Lavellan dragged him out there just to force him to share a tent with Bull. A tent where, once again, the Qunari had somehow honed in on his fears and trepidations like a mabari on the scent.

No. He refused to think about it. He pulled a chair close to the fire and forced himself to read.

Lavellan walked in a few minutes later. Dorian greeted her with a smile. “Why hello, my dear. I would have thought you’d be sound asleep by now.” He gestured at the chair across from him.

She sat. “I could say the same for you, Dorian. Isn’t there a certain giant of a Qunari waiting for you somewhere?”

He laughed. “My darling Vira, I hate to disappoint you, but after so many days on horseback, I’m not really up for something so... athletic.”

She smiled. “I guess we all have our limits.”

They sat for a while, chatting lightly. Dorian was really quite fond of Lavellan. The fact that a Dalish elf would be so quick to accept a Tevinter was a bit shocking at first, but then again, the Inquisitor was a remarkable woman. Privately, he was even willing to acknowledge how grateful he was that she wasn’t a man. He had enough complications in his life, thank you very much.

Eventually, Vira drained her glass and went back to her quarters. Dorian pondered whether to do the same. But he was so warm and comfortable, for the first time in what felt like months. One more glass, one more chapter, he told himself.

Unfortunately, the combination of dry reading and drier wine had an unintended consequence: he dozed off. He did not, therefore, see Bull pause at the door to the tavern. He was unaware that Bull held a finger up to his mouth to quiet the rowdy Chargers behind him. He failed to notice the Qunari standing over him, looking down on his sleeping face with a small grin.

What he did realize, dimly, was the feeling of someone picking him up, gently. Dorian drowsily rested his head against the Bull’s shoulder. He had a vague awareness of Bull’s scent, leather and pine, a rush of cool air, and then more blessed warmth as Bull laid the mage down in his bed.

Dorian awoke with a start several hours later, disoriented and close to panic.

“I’m here, little mage,” Bull’s voice rumbled through him.

“What am I doing here?” Dorian said, pushing himself up and away from Bull.

Bull chuckled. “You must be feeling a lot more comfortable at Skyhold. You fell asleep in the tavern.”

“Kaffas,” Dorian swore to himself. “Why did you bring me here, though?”

“I don’t know where your quarters are.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I see,” Dorian said. _Well._ It _was_ thoughtful, what Bull did, but he wasn’t exactly going to issue _thanks_ for being hauled about the keep for all to see. _Again._

“You’re welcome,” Bull said.

The half-moon was visible through the small window, bathing the bed in a silvery glow. Dorian turned to Bull and revised his previous statement. “Thank you.”

“Are you going back to your room?” Bull asked.

“Do you want me to?”

“No,” Bull said simply. “But if you stay, you’re not going to get much more sleep tonight.”

“And why is that?” Dorian drawled.

“Because you look so perfect in the moonlight, little mage.” Bull’s voice was raspy and low. “I’ve been watching you sleep. Watching those gorgeous lips of yours, imagining how good they’ll feel wrapped around me. How good they’ll look when you’re begging for me.”

The sound of Bull’s voice might have well have been a geas, it so enchanted the mage, softened him, took away his own words.

“You’ve got thirty seconds to leave or get naked,” Bull said. “Twenty-nine.”

Dorian’s fingers flew to the laces on his shirt and trousers. He’d dressed for comfort that evening, not for show, and made quick work of his clothes. Bull still had ten seconds left on his countdown when Dorian stood in the stream of moonlight, waiting.

“Damn, you are so beautiful, little one,” Bull said, just looking at him. He slowly rose from the bed and circled the trembling mage. “Hands on your head.”

Dorian complied. The question “why” had just begun to spark to life in his mind when it was snuffed out by Bull. He stood behind Dorian, leaning down to the mage’s neck, breathing in deeply. “You smell so good, little one.” Bull knelt, though there was no submission in the gesture. His face roamed against the skin of Dorian’s back, the barest hints of a caress, mostly just the feeling of the Qunari’s breath.

Huge hands spun Dorian around and Bull repeated the process. When he got near Dorian’s cock, he chuckled to see it twitch. “So good,” he said again. He looked up at the mage. “You added something.”

Dorian realized he was being asked a question about his bath oils. “Blood -” his voice broke slightly. He tried again. “Blood lotus,” he said quietly.

Bull hummed in appreciation. “Wanted to remind me of the tents?” he asked.

Dorian nodded, embarrassed at being caught.

“Mmm, little mage. Very sneaky. I like it.” He rewarded the mage with another deep inhale, right at the base of Dorian’s now straining cock.

Dorian’s hips bucked forward and he whimpered.

“Oh, no, little one. Can’t have that. On the bed. On your stomach.”

Bull pulled Dorian’s hands over his head, looping a length of rope around his wrists, securing it to the headboard. His legs were spread wide and restrained as well. Dorian tugged lightly at the ropes. They gave slightly. If he wasn’t pulling at them, he could hardly feel the ropes at all.

“I wish you could see how gorgeous you are right now, little one, the moon on your skin. Soon your pretty muscles will be straining as you beg.”

Bull ran his hands over the mage’s back and ass, warming the skin. Then, without warning, he spanked.

Dorian gasped. No one had ever spanked him before.

“How does that feel, little one? Do you like it?” Another spank.

Dorian’s mouth was moving, but no sound came out. Then another smack.

“Well?” Another spank.

“Yes.” He choked out a gasp. It was an incredible sensation, the brief sting giving way to warmth, the anticipation of the next blow heightening the experience. Dorian bucked his hips into the mattress.

“You really do like it, don’t you, little one? You were made for this.” Bull’s voice seemed amused. “Look at you, grinding on the bed. You want more?”

“Yes. More, please more,” Dorian whimpered. There was a pause as Bull moved about the room.

Dorian gave a keening cry as something whipped at him, landing on his lower back. Whatever it was, it was definitely not Bull’s hand. A belt, perhaps? It seared for an instant, then dulled to an ache. It felt... Dorian wasn’t sure how it felt. It hurt, certainly, but it also felt strangely satisfying, the pain grounding him in his body, somehow, preventing his mind from turning over and over itself. Then another lash, a little lower. And another, across his thighs. And another, higher up, between his shoulder blades. Behind his knees. Across his ass.

At first, Bull’s lashes fell slow enough to allow Dorian to recover, but quick enough to prevent his mind from working properly. Eventually the timing was quicker, and Dorian could not keep up. He screamed into the bed, straining against the ropes, adding even more pain, but unable to prevent his body from reacting.

And then it was over. He felt Bull kneel between his legs, leaning over him. The heat from the Qunari’s skin seemed uncomfortably warm on Dorian’s now burning back. “So good, little one. So perfect. These beautiful marks, just for me.” Bull ran his hand along one of the stripes. Dorian whimpered. “Go ahead, little one. Make it cooler for yourself. You did so well for me.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “Hands,” he croaked.

“Oh no, my pretty little mage. You’re staying put.” Bull laughed.

Dorian shook his head. _“Your_ hands,” he clarified.

Bull grinned as he felt Dorian focus his magic into the Qunari’s hands. “Oh, pretty little mage,” he said, tracing an icy finger over the lashes. “This is so good.”

Dorian concentrated on relaxing his straining muscles as Bull caressed each stripe, the cool skin providing relief. Bull’s voice was a counterpoint, a steady murmuring of adoration that washed over Dorian.

And then Bull was spreading him open. Dorian was ready for a finger, and dissipated the magic. What he did not expect was Bull’s tongue, lapping gently at his perineum. Dorian convulsed, squealing in protest.

Bull held him steady. “Relax, Dorian,” he commanded. Dorian tried to comply, but could not quite force his body to lose tension. “Dorian,” Bull said, his voice now authoritative. “I’m going to lick this gorgeous ass while you’re tied down, helpless. And there’s nothing you can do about it. So relax and enjoy it.”

Dorian knew there was something he could do. He’d never been tempted to say it, but what Bull was proposing was utterly out of his comfort zone. It felt forbidden. Dirty. A memory of Antonius leapt into Dorian’s mind, unbidden. Without Bull’s voice to drown it out, Dorian’s head was filled with the words of the older man, words that bloomed shame and humiliation in his chest: _filth. sin. depraved._ The remembrance mixed with the sensation of Bull’s touch, the two extremes conflated, and this time, memory won.

“Katoh,” he whimpered. Bull immediately ceased touching him, but it was too late. Dorian continued to sob the word into the mattress beneath him. Dorian was too far gone to realize how quickly Bull released him from his bonds, freeing the mage in a matter of seconds.

“Little one, I’m here,” Bull said, now kneeling by the bed, not touching him. “Are you hurt?”

Dorian shook his head, now embarrassed by his weakness. “Not hurt,” he managed. Dorian took a ragged breath as awareness slammed back into him. Bull was looking at him with such tender concern that he felt sick. “I’m sorry,” Dorian said quietly, his voice thick.

“Don’t be,” Bull said. “Everyone has their limits.” He petted Dorian’s hair.

Dorian flushed. Now, on top of everything, he felt ashamed at the fact that he let something as petty as an unpleasant memory ruin things. “I should go,” he said.

Bull’s jaw clenched, but he showed no response otherwise. “If that’s what you want.”

Dorian scrambled in the dim light to gather his clothes and yank them on. Bull said nothing; he did not move from the spot where he knelt next to the bed.

Dorian pulled the door open. Once again, he turned to speak, opening his mouth, but... nothing. Words failed.

Outside Dorian’s door, Cole stood, waiting calmly. Dorian noted idly that Cole’s posture never seemed appropriate. Maker knows how long he had been waiting, but he stood motionless, relaxed, hands at his sides, not leaning on the wall or slouching with hands in pockets or fidgeting or any of the other things that people did while they waited.

“Hello Cole,” Dorian said.

“You’re hurting,” Cole said simply.

Dorian sighed. “Yes, Cole,” he said quietly. “I am.”

“Why won’t you let the Iron Bull help? He wants to help.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“He replaces one ache with another: burnished, burning, benediction.”

Dorian’s shoulders sagged. Cole’s bizarre way of looking at things struck a little too close to home. “I’ll take that into consideration, Cole.” He opened the door to his quarters and shut it firmly behind him.


	7. What Happened in Crestwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian travels to Crestwood to meet Hawke and the Grey Warden.

It could honestly be said that Dorian had never seen so many Druffalo in his life. Crestwood seemed to be teeming with the creatures, massive beasts that went from placid to murderous stampede in an instant. Dorian was not a fan.

The larger problem seemed to be Red Templars and Venatori, though. Dorian was more than a match for the latter, especially teamed up with Cassandra. Her ability to cancel their spells was a deadly counterpoint to Dorian’s knowledge of Tevinter battle tactics. Varric, meanwhile, worked in shadow alongside the Inquisitor, their arrows and daggers ripping into foes before they even realized they were under attack.

Dorian was glad of the opportunity to travel with Lavellan to meet Hawke and his Grey Warden contact. First, it got him out of Skyhold. The situation with Iron Bull had become... complicated. Dorian wasn’t used to sex being anything other than a physical exchange. What Bull did to him went beyond sex. It exposed parts of Dorian that he desperately wanted to keep hidden. And after their most recent encounter a few days ago... it was good to be away for a bit. Not that Dorian specifically thought about it. Not at all.

The second reason he was glad to go to Crestwood was Hawke. The blasted mage had had the gall to leave Skyhold before Dorian had returned from the Fallow Mire, preventing them from renewing their acquaintance in a timely manner. Dorian also refused to speculate on what might have happened had Hawke still been at the keep.

In fact, Dorian now spent rather a lot of time not thinking. It was terribly tedious, he realized. He wondered how Sera did it.

“Sparkler, you look like you’ve got something on your mind,” Varric said as they approached the cave to meet Hawke.

“What? No,” Dorian said quickly. “Not at all.”

“I find that hard to believe,” the Inquisitor said.

“Vishante kaffas, can’t a man have some private moments?” Dorian grumbled.

They dismounted. Hawke greeted them with a wave. “Glad you made it. I just got here myself,” he said, shaking the Inquisitor’s hand, repeating the gesture with Cassandra and Varric.

“Don’t I get a handshake?” Dorian smirked. “I think I’m insulted, Garrett.”

“Merely saving the best for last, Dorian,” Hawke said.

They shook hands for perhaps longer than called for in polite company. Especially when accompanied by smoldering eye contact.

“Eugh,” Cassandra groaned.

“That’s enough, Hawke. Bull will personally kill me if I let you paw at his little mage too long.” Varric said.

“Now I know I’m insulted,” Dorian frowned. “Bull’s little mage?”

They met Warden Stroud in the cavern, where he revealed Warden-Commander Clarel’s insane plan. The decision was made for Stroud to travel to the Western Approach alone, to avoid attracting attention. Hawke would stay with the Inquisitor’s party as far as Gherlen’s Pass, then make his way to the Western Approach as well.

That evening they stayed in the Inquisition camp, not far from the cave in which they met Stroud. As usual, after dinner they tended to their equipment. Varric oiled Bianca, Lavellan sharpened her daggers, and Cassandra mucked about with her armor.

Dorian rose and stretched luxuriantly. “I think I might head back to the cave. I saw quite a bit of Deep Mushroom to gather.” He looked around, his gaze falling, completely by accident, on Hawke.

“I think I’ll join you,” Hawke said.

Varric and Cassandra watched the mages saunter away.

The Seeker raised an eyebrow. “I do not like this at all, Varric.”

“Me neither,” Varric said. “But there’s not much we can do about it.”

Dorian and Hawke strolled to the cave. “So,” Hawke said. “‘Bull’s little mage’, eh?”

Dorian sighed. “Varric has a way with words, as you well know.”

“Are you and Bull....?”

“We’ve spent some time together, yes,” Dorian said.

Hawke made an appreciative noise.

“Yes, quite,” Dorian said. “I’m glad you see the appeal.” He ducked into the entrance to the cave.

“Oh, I see the appeal on all accounts,” Hawke said, grabbing Dorian by the hips. “Still, I’d rather he not yank my arms off next time I see him.”

Dorian kept his face neutral. “He’s Qunari, Hawke. They’re not exactly _possessive.”_ Dorian hoped the words sounded more convincing than they felt.

“True,” Hawke said. He grinned and pulled Dorian a bit closer.

Dorian decided to dispense with the remainder of the flirtation. He grasped Hawke’s face in both hands and kissed him. By Andraste, he had missed this. Tongue and teeth and lips and breath, the anticipation of things to come, Maker, just the _taste_ of him. Dorian moaned in satisfaction. Hawke gave a breathy chuckle, yanking Dorian’s hips to meet his fully, pulling him to the cave wall, slipping his hands around the swell of Dorian’s ass.

“How long do you think we have before Varric comes looking for us?” Dorian asked, the question ending in a hissing gasp as Hawke nipped at one earlobe.

“Hmm,” Hawke murmured. “Not long. Not long at all.” He slipped a hand down to stroke Dorian through his trousers.

Dorian grunted and bucked into his hand. “Well then, you’d better get started,” he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes, his hands pushing Hawke’s shoulders down.

Hawke did not need clarification. He unlaced Dorian’s pants quickly, freeing his hard length and sucking it eagerly.

Dorian rolled his head back. This was familiar territory. No bothersome intimacy, no troubling feelings, just Hawke and his hands and his (ah!) surprisingly talented tongue. He wove his fingers through Hawke’s hair, surprised to find he missed that too.

Dorian gave an experimental tug and was rewarded with a moan and a nod. With a groan, Dorian gave in and began to fuck his mouth. He realized that a steady stream of words were tumbling from his lips. “Fuck, that’s good. Garrett, oh, fuck, yes, that’s it, take it, fuck, that’s so good, that’s perfect, perfect.” And then he wasn’t speaking at all. Shuddering, clenching his teeth to control the wild bucking in his hips, he spilled into Hawke’s mouth.

Hawke rose, running the back of his hand along Dorian’s cheek. “You’re quite mouthy, aren’t you? Are you always so talkative?” He smiled.

Dorian felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. _No. I’m not. I’m not at all, when I... when I’m with..._ He realized Hawke was staring at him in concern. Dorian laughed to cover the moment. “I’ll show you mouthy.” He sank to his knees.

They returned to the camp a short while later with armloads of deep mushroom.

“Why are you sweating?” Cassandra said. Varric stood behind the Seeker, one eyebrow raised in accusation, his arms folded across his chest.

“Ran into some spiders,” Hawke lied, dumping the mushrooms on the requisition table.

“Beastly things, spiders,” Dorian nodded. “Took a lot of fighting.”

“But you are unarmed,” Cassandra said.

Both Dorian and Hawke simultaneously rolled their eyes and produced small fireballs in their hands.

“Oh, see, that’s very good,” Hawke said in appreciation, pointing at Dorian’s hand,

“I was just going to say the same thing, well done.” Dorian said. “Wonderful thing, being a mage, isn’t it?” He batted his eyelashes innocently at Cassandra.

“Eugh,” the Seeker said.

“I love you too, Seeker.” Dorian said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... it may be obvious by now, but I am not as familiar with "sarcastic Hawke", since I didn't go that route in my playthrough. Hopefully the voice isn't too far off. If it is, my apologies, and maybe just pretend it's canon divergence or something?


	8. A Game of Chess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Crestwood, Dorian enjoys a game of chess with Cullen, until he finds out that his father sent a letter.

“Commander! Always a sight for sore eyes,” Dorian drawled, sauntering up to the table in the garden. Over the past few weeks, Cullen and Dorian had managed to play chess several times. They were evenly matched; Cullen held to a conservative game while Dorian took bold, risky moves.

Dorian had enjoyed getting to know the Commander a bit better. He found Cullen to be a much more complex individual than he’d originally surmised. When he wasn’t blushing and stammering at the Inquisitor or shouting at his troops, Cullen was confident, well-spoken, and thoughtful. The man was spectacularly beautiful, which didn’t hurt either. Dorian flirted with him outrageously, never passing up an opportunity to make the pale blonde blush a deep scarlet. The Commander was obviously head over heels for the Inquisitor, but his reactions to Dorian’s flirtation went a bit beyond prudishness. It was almost as if the flirting was hitting close to the mark. Dorian suspected Cullen wasn’t quite rigid in his tastes, which suited the mage just fine.

Cullen set the pieces on the board. “I hope you don’t feel strong-armed into accepting duties training the battlemages, Dorian.” Lavellan and Cullen had cornered Dorian earlier that day. The Inquisitor requested that the Tevinter begin to train a select, elite group of battlemages in the Procella Dracona. “Request” wasn’t actually the word. The elf had been brimming with excitement and waved off each of Dorian’s protests and excuses before scampering away, leaving the mage blinking in confusion.

“Not at all,” Dorian said. “The idea is actually quite good. I have the time, after all, and the Inquisitor has drilled in me the importance of taking every opportunity to show that not all Tevinter mages are cackling Venatori maleficars. Still. It wouldn’t do to just say yes to additional duties without protesting a _little._ Next thing you know, I’d be as swamped as you. When was the last time you saw the top of your desk, Commander?”

Cullen groaned. It was a delightful sound, Dorian decided. “Too long. I’m actually looking forward to being able to help with whatever program you put in place. I spend too much time in my office.”

“And how are things going with the Inquisitor?” Dorian moved a pawn.

Cullen gave him a hard look. “I don’t know what you mean,” he mumbled.

“Oh come come, Commander. It’s been ages since Vira and Solas broke off their... whatever it was.”

“It’s been nine days,” Cullen interjected.

“It’s been nine days since Vira became available. Plenty of time. You think too much, Commander.”

“Said the man about to lose a bishop.” Cullen pulled one of Dorian’s pieces from the board.

Dorian gave a disinterested wave. “You know I’m right.”

“I could just as easily ask you why you’re avoiding Bull.” Cullen said.

“I’m not avoiding him,” Dorian protested. “I was on a field mission with the Inquisitor.”

“Yet you returned over two weeks ago,” Cullen pointed out. “You haven’t seen him once since then?”

“I saw him when I got back,” Dorian said, and it was technically true. Bull had met him at the stables, enfolding the mage in a huge bear hug, lifting him off the ground playfully. But then something his embrace had changed; Dorian wasn’t sure what. Bull set him down carefully and looked into Dorian’s eyes, searching for something. “You okay, little one?” Bull had murmured.

“Fine, fine,” Dorian had said lightly. “Just tired.”

“Join me for a drink later?” There was a tinge of doubt in Bull’s voice.

“Of course!” Dorian had said brightly, knowing it was a lie, and knowing Bull knew it was a lie. He hadn’t seen the Qunari since.

“I’m not _avoiding_ him,” Dorian said again for emphasis. “Skyhold is a big place, you know. Lots of nooks and crannies. I simply haven’t run into him.”

Cullen shot him a look of pity at the terrible lie. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

Dorian sighed. “I suppose not. Anyway. It’s not as if he’s lacking for company. We don’t have an _agreement_ or anything.”

“Does Bull know that?” Cullen said. “Word ‘round the Herald’s Rest is that he’s turned down every offer since you. And there have been more than a few. He has _quite_ the reputation.”

Dorian’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He frowned at the board. Blasted words. He shoved a knight into position.

“He’s going to stop waiting for you soon, you know.” Cullen relieved Dorian of a rook.

“What are you talking about?” Dorian snapped irritably. “He knows where to find me.”

The Commander frowned at him. _“No,_ he _doesn’t,”_ Cullen said pointedly. “Now that you don’t spend all your time holed up in the library, how is he supposed to track you down? He doesn’t even know where you sleep.”

It was Dorian’s turn to frown. “How do you know all this?” he asked suspiciously.

“Soldiers talk,” Cullen said. “Anyway, what’s the issue? I thought you got along well.”

“I... I don’t want to talk about it.” Dorian said, turning his attention back to the game.

“Suit yourself. It’s check, by the way.” Cullen said. “If I’d known that all I had to do to win was mention Bull, I’d have done it ages ago,” he laughed.

Dorian didn’t respond, looking down at the board but hardly seeing it.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said. “I didn’t realize how important it was to you.”

At that moment, the Inquisitor came trotting up, her face full of concern. “Dorian. There’s something.... I’ve received a letter. From your father.”

The problem with the wine he had stashed in his room was that there was only so much of it. There was the bottle of expensive Orlesian red that he’d been saving for a special occasion. Well. This certainly qualified. Then there was the half-empty magnum of dismal Fereldan white that he’d decided earlier was too disgusting to drink. Might as well put it out of its misery.

But then both were gone and the sun was just setting. Too soon for bed, surely. The Herald’s Rest beckoned.

He walked into the rowdy tavern, swaying slightly in the doorway. The Chargers were there, celebrating a recent raid. Their tankards crashed noisily in time to their ribald song, Bull’s voice loudest of all.

Dorian blinked in drunken confusion. He hadn’t realized the Chargers had returned from their mission. And there was the second-to-last man he wanted to see, staring at him. The look of hope on Bull’s face twisted at Dorian, as did the concern that followed a second later.

Bull was in front of him, then, holding him by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“I....” Dorian shook his head helplessly. “I can’t....” He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. “Letter... from home,” he managed to stutter.

“Dorian,” Bull commanded, his voice low. “Go outside, little mage. Stand by the door. Wait for me.”

Dorian nodded dumbly, vaguely aware that the Chargers were staring at him. He obediently turned and stumbled out, glad for the orders that had stripped him of the need to think.

Bull joined him a moment later. He scooped the mage up easily, as if Dorian were a small child. Dorian wrapped his arms around Bull’s neck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh, little one. I’ve got you,” Bull said.

Dorian’s mouth continued to make the shape of the words, his lips moving into Bull’s neck, even as his voice failed.

This time, when they reached Bull’s room, there was no pain. No ropes, no lashes, no commands. Only Bull’s voice, wrapped around Dorian, the words chasing away all his doubts and fears, heightening the sweet ache, transforming it into a blessing.

Then Dorian was on top of Bull, riding him, a sheen of sweat coating his skin, Bull’s hand stroking him, his voice murmuring: beautiful. gorgeous. perfect. The peak shimmered, an elusive forever, like waiting for the sun to rise, watching for the first golden ray to pierce the rose horizon. And then Dorian was there, shuddering, sobbing, moaning, and Bull was with him, moving and thrusting, his deep growls a counterpoint to Dorian’s cries.

Dorian had collapsed on to Bull’s chest. _I’m sorry, I’m sorry._ The thoughts eventually became whispers, a paean, while Bull stroked his sweat-streaked hair. “I’m sorry.”

After a few moments, Bull quieted the mage. “Dorian. Stop apologizing.”

Dorian fell still, dreading what was to come next, dreading having to summon the words, wishing he could remain mute in Bull’s arms.

“Tell me,” Bull said finally.

Dorian paused, trying to corral the thoughts, assign speech, while somehow avoiding the part of himself he didn’t want to acknowledge, that feeling he could not acknowledge. Not yet. Not ever.

“As much as you can,” Bull amended his command.

Dorian sighed, grateful for the reprieve of a full confession. He started where it had all gone wrong, the memory that forced the _katoh_ from his lips. “Antonius was...” he cleared his throat. “Antonius was a man I knew, before I left Minrathous.” Falteringly, he told Bull about the older man’s predilection for whispers, words that sickened, poisoned, even as they aroused.

“That why you ran away from me, little mage? Couldn’t get it out of your head?” Bull continued stroking Dorian’s hair as he spoke.

Dorian nodded.

Bull grunted. After a long pause, he spoke. “That guy sounds like an asshole.”

The mage began to laugh. He wasn’t sure what Bull had been about to say, until he said it, and Dorian realized it was the most Bull-ish response possible. The only thing he could have said, really, Bull being who he was. The laughter took hold of him as he rolled off the Qunari’s chest to nestle next to him.

“What? It’s true,” Bull said.

“I suppose it is,” Dorian sighed, still snickering.

“Vira told me about the letter,” Bull said then, and the laughter fell away.

“When?” Dorian frowned.

“When you were drinking yourself into a stupor in your room this afternoon.”

“Ah.” Dorian sighed. Of course the Inquisitor could do whatever she wanted with the letter. It was addressed to her, after all, not Dorian.

“When do you leave?” Bull asked.

“Tomorrow.”

There was another pause. “You want me to come with you?” Bull offered.

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut. It was now almost impossible to ignore the unwanted emotion, no longer an idea or potential. It was real, it was inside him, and if he could have cut it out with a knife, he would have. Still. He had control. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d shut this away, sealed it off, doors locked and later forgotten. “I don’t suppose there’s a Qunlat word that means yes and no at the same time?”

It was Bull’s turn to laugh. “There isn’t. But there should be.”

There was another pause. “Thank you for asking, Bull.”

“No problem. I’d do the same for my boys. Some things you gotta do alone, and some things are easier with friends.”

Dorian exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath. The press of emotion lessened. Of course Bull would do this for anyone. He was like that.

“I was afraid you were going to insist,” Dorian admitted.

“Like you could stop me?” Bull smirked.

Dorian pushed himself up and blinked at Bull in astonishment. “I certainly could, you big lummox. What are you implying?”

“Dorian, come _on,”_ Bull said, smiling.

Dorian hopped off the bed. He stood there, naked, his arms folded across his chest. “Go on then,” he challenged Bull. “Try it.”

Bull’s grin widened. He lunged. Well, that was the idea, anyway. Bull struggled against the field of force Dorian had raised around him. He could move his facial expressions, but that was it. His eye had narrowed and his breathing was intent as he stared at Dorian.

Dorian tilted his head to the side. “What’s the matter, Bull? Cat got your tongue?” He snapped his fingers, and the field around Bull’s mouth weakened just enough to allow his chin to move a fraction of an inch.

“Dorian,” he growled. “Damn. You are fucking amazing. You have such _power._ It’s...” Bull made a breathy, appreciative grunt.

Dorian laughed. “You like it?” He added a hint of heat to the field.

“Oh, _fuck,”_ Bull said. “Yes. More.” It was a command, not a request.

Tiny sparks began to crackle over Bull’s skin. Then Dorian switched from heat to cold instantaneously. Dorian watched in appreciation as Bull’s muscles strained against the barrier. Then Dorian’s grin turned into panic. “Kaffas!” he hissed, just as the bed collapsed.

“Sorry,” Dorian said. “There was a flaw in the wood. I should’ve tightened the field a bit more.”

Bull really did lunge at Dorian now, attacking with teeth and tongue and hands. “Fuck, Dorian, I’ll get a steel bed,” he said, biting into the mage’s shoulder. “That felt amazing.”

Dorian gasped. “Not steel, it would electrocute you,” he corrected.

“Less talking, more fucking,” Bull growled.

“I can do that,” Dorian gasped.

 

 


	9. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian returns from Redcliffe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor canon divergence for in-game dialogue.

A horn sounded through Skyhold just before sunset; the Inquisitor had returned from Redcliffe, where she had traveled with Dorian to meet the Pavus family retainer. Bull’s facial expression did not change; one could almost be mistaken into thinking he hadn’t heard it at all. He took a drink from his tankard, hoping that the constant thrum in his mind would finally quiet after five days: _You should have gone with him. You should have gone with him._

Varric assessed Bull’s demeanor from across the table. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Tiny?”

“Some things take time, Varric,” Bull said. “Give it a minute. Dorian’s a private person.”

Varric shrugged. “You say so.”

Cullen, meanwhile, blushed scarlet when he heard the horn. He fiddled with his tankard. “I should....” He sighed and shook his head. “I should get another drink.” He rose abruptly and strode to the bar. He only bumped into two chairs along the way.

Varric rolled his eyes and prodded Krem into re-telling an outlandish story about the Chargers which involved luring a giant out of a cave.

Cullen returned with a full tankard. He’d just sat down and begun to sip it when he choked, spluttering, at the sight of the Inquisitor running up to the table.

“Bull, you must come, quickly.” Lavellan gasped, slightly out of breath from sprinting.

All pretense of patience fell away. Bull was out the door in two strides.

Lavellan had to trot to keep up with Bull’s purposeful strides as they made their way across the courtyard.

“What happened?”

“It wasn’t a retainer waiting for him. It was his father.” The Inquisitor said.

“Shit.” Bull said. “Is he talking?”

“No, that’s the thing. How did you -? He hasn’t spoken since we left the inn,” she said.

Bull grunted and took the stairs to the library four at a time.

Dorian was in the little alcove where he spent much of his time, at least when he wasn’t trying to hide from Bull. The Qunari joined him, his enormous body consuming most of the space. The Inquisitor hovered near the bookshelves, unsure if she should stay or go, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

“Tell me,” Bull said, resting a hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “As much as you can.”

Dorian turned to Bull. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lavellan edging away. “No, Vira, stay. You... deserve to hear.”

The Inquisitor raised her eyebrows in surprise. Dorian was normally the picture of eloquence. To hear him struggle with words was jarring. He had certainly hurled enough invective at his father in Redcliffe.

Dorian collapsed into the chair, exhausted; Bull sank to one knee beside him. “He... tried to change me. When I wouldn’t...” he waved his hands in frustration, looking for the words, “...put on a show, marry the girl.” He laughed. “Didn’t want to....”

“Spend your life screaming on the inside?” Bull finished the thought for him.

Dorian nodded. “Selfish, I know. I found out. I left.”

“How did he try to change you?” The Inquisitor said.

“Blood magic,” Bull guessed.

“Would that work?” Lavellan was horrified.

“It might. Might’ve left him a drooling vegetable.” Bull said. He laid a hand on Dorian’s hair. The mage leaned forward to rest his forehead on Bull’s shoulder. “What did he want, little one?”

“To...” Dorian struggled, then laughed ruefully. “To talk,” he said.

“Are you alright?” the Inquisitor asked.

“No. Not really.”

Bull brought his arms up around Dorian and gave the tiniest nod to the Inquisitor, who backed away.

“Wait,” Dorian said, pushing out of Bull’s embrace to address Lavellan. “Thank you... for bringing me out there. It wasn’t what I expected but... it’s something.” He leaned back into the chair, the effort of so many words draining him.

She smiled. “Of course, Dorian.”

Bull wanted to carry Dorian back to his quarters. What was it with the man’s obsession with hoisting people about? Dorian may have been rendered nearly dumb, but he wasn’t an invalid. “Bull, please,” he said quietly, and Bull nodded, allowing the mage to stand on his own volition.

They made their way to Bull’s quarters. Dorian noted, idly, that the bed had been repaired and reinforced. The mage swayed slightly on his feet.

Bull guided him to the bed and sat him down. “Little one. When was the last time you ate?”

Dorian blinked in confusion. “Day before yesterday.”

Bull looked carefully at the mage. There was something in Dorian’s eyes, an apprehension, a plea. Bull exhaled, pursing his lips. “I’m going to get you food,” he said, looking carefully at Dorian’s face. There was a flash of panic, almost invisible. Bull nodded. “But I can’t have you running away, little one.”

He pulled a length of rope from under the bed, noting that Dorian relaxed visibly at the sight. The mage held his hands out. Bull quickly looped the rope around his wrists and secured it to the bed. There was plenty of slack in the line; the rope was only meant to keep him in the room, not render him immobile. Still, Dorian sighed, grateful that the decision to stay or go or think about it at all had been taken away. He laid back on the bed.

Bull kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll be back soon.” Bull rose swiftly and closed the door behind him.

Dorian had done so much thinking over the last few days that he felt empty. His words had failed upon hearing what his father wanted from him: forgiveness. The tempest of emotion and thought had drowned out his ability to speak. Dimly, he realized it was much the same as when Bull took the words from his mouth; only when the Qunari did it, he replaced the tempest with a storm of passion and praise. For three days, Dorian had wrested with his father’s plea for forgiveness against the needs of his own anger and pain.

But now, he had but to sit and wait for Bull. Where before his mind roiled, now there was silence, inside and out. At that moment, however, the actual silence was broken by the sound of singing floating up through the window to the courtyard. It was a group of chanters, singing one of the lesser-known canticles. Dorian didn’t recognize it; they sang chants differently in Tevinter and he’d never been particularly devout.

The voices were quiet at first, then grew in strength. The complex harmonies dipped in and out of dissonance, swelling and fading as if the music itself breathed. Dorian couldn’t quite make out the words, but the sound both soothed and excited, sending goosebumps up his skin as the dissonances resolved, only to form anew.

Dorian realized he was bone tired. The sound washed over him, further freeing him from the need to think, just as the ropes freed him from the need to act. Within this emptiness, there was no way to ignore the emotion he felt for Bull, the feeling he’d been dutifully pretending didn’t exist. It was there, waiting. Despite his studious avoidance, the dratted thing had grown huge. He felt it lurking, the way prey can feel the eyes of a predator.

Dorian was too tired to be scared of it, anymore. What had he been frightened of, exactly? He couldn’t remember; his mind had been wiped clean by the events of the last few days and the ropes on his wrists and the music washing over him. He wasn’t in Tevinter. And Bull wasn’t the Soporati boy next door, doomed for a kiss. Still, knowing an emotion exists and feeling it are two different things. Willpower, stubbornness really, kept him from giving in and accepting what he already knew.

Because the whole thing was _ridiculous._ Even without the fear that had been drilled into him by a lifetime of denial, the idea of having _feelings_ for Bull was just utter _nonsense._ Even with Bull’s delightfully alluring muscles and the respect and consideration he showed for Dorian and the way he laughed and his leather-pine scent and the way he growled when he came. No, despite all that, Dorian told himself, he was being ridiculous. He clung to that idea, more out of habit than anything else.

The music swelled, growing in intensity, the same dissonant phrase repeating over and over, dragging his attention to the sound. Dorian finally recognized a snippet of text: “As I surrender.” It repeated, stronger each time, commanding. _Surrender. Surrender._ Dorian found his eyes had pricked with tears as the chant filled him. Warmth began to bloom in his chest.

The music became almost too intense to bear, an ache that demanded release. And then, sweet Maker, the notes resolved, one voice soaring over the others. _Surrender._ Dorian didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he gasped at the resolution, shivering. With that gasp the last vestige of resistance gave way and he breathed in his acceptance of the feeling long denied. Acknowledged it. Surrendered to it. And for a _Qunari,_ no less. It was tentative, still too new to be named, but some things don’t need names to be known. That would come.

The chant ended. For a few moments, Dorian lay there, not quite sure what had happened. Then he laughed, the sound bouncing off the stone walls, his voice returning to him, quiet at first, then clear and strong.

“Varric is going to be insufferably smug,” Dorian said out loud, smiling, suddenly giddy. “Oh, the sass I am going to have to endure.” He took a deep breath and looked around the room. This was the longest he’d been in Bull’s chambers not sleeping or distracted by sex.

It was rather dismal, really. Not at all the setting for such an important moment. The sun had set; stars had begun to twinkle through the window. There was no moon, so the room was quickly bathed in darkness. Dorian lit the candles with a thought. Looking up at the ceiling, he sent up tiny points of light from his fingers, to float about the rafters like fireflies, one by one.

When Bull opened the door a bit later, he froze at the sight of hundreds of sparkling lights whirling about the ceiling.

“It’s all right, Bull,” Dorian called out from the bed. “They’re harmless. Just light, no heat. It’s a game I played as a child.”

Bull walked in, the tiny lights swirling around him like motes of dust. “You’re talking again,” he noted. He had a tray of food and a bottle. He set both down and sat on the side of the bed.

“I am, as you so rightly pointed out, talking again. It’s been three days, Bull. _Frightfully_ long time for someone as brilliant as I to keep his mouth shut. I hope you weren’t expecting to get the last word forever.”

Bull tilted his head. “What changed?”

Dorian’s smile faded, though the warmth did not leave his eyes. “I’m not scared anymore,” he said simply. He tugged at the bindings around his wrists. “I don’t need these. I’m not going to run.” He looked at Bull, a question in his eyes.

Bull nodded.

Dorian touched the rope with a finger, burning it away into ash, then blowing the ash away with a wisp of wind. “Not saying I’d object to being tied up in the future. I am _rather_ fond of it.”

Bull laughed. “That’s the last time I let you top from the bottom.”

Dorian grinned. “Also, I haven’t eaten in a very long time and have only had water to drink since Redcliffe. So if you were ever going to give me that kiss you offered once, now would be a good time.”

_Lips, teeth, tongue, breath._ Dorian moaned gratefully as Bull explored his mouth. For someone who didn’t kiss very often, Bull was certainly very good at it. He teased first, with open, playful kisses that became bites. His tongue probed and licked and _Maker,_ just the way he breathed into Dorian’s mouth was electrifying.

Bull palmed Dorian’s hard length through his robes, one hand on the back of the mage’s neck, maintaining the kiss. Dorian soon became frantic; the combined sensation overwhelmed him as his pleading moans were swallowed by Bull’s mouth. He felt his trousers being pulled down and then Bull was stroking him, firm, slow. Dorian was now desperate for release, but Bull would not relent. He set the pace, the sweet torture of the long climb. All the while, his lips, teeth, tongue, breath he gave to Dorian. The strokes increased gradually, agonizing, until Dorian was practically sobbing into his mouth.

“Come, Kadan,” Bull said at last, into the mage’s mouth. “Come for me, little one.” He did not loosen his grip on Dorian’s neck, his tongue sliding across the mage’s straining lips, their breath mingling.

Dorian moaned loudly into Bull’s mouth, his eyes open, his hips bucking as he came. 

“So beautiful, so perfect, so gorgeous,” Bull said. “Kadan.”

There was a pause in the proceedings. Dorian wanted to continue, but Bull took one look at his trembling hand and insisted the mage eat. He handed Dorian a bowl of ram stew.

“You remembered,” Dorian said.

“Of course,” Bull smiled. “What good is Ben-Hassrath training if I can’t recall what people like to eat?”

“Remind me to be thankful we’re on the same side,” Dorian said. “I’d hate for this to be poisoned.”

“So,” Dorian said after a pause. “What does ‘Kadan’ mean? Some unholy Qunlat phrase, I presume?”

Bull looked down into his bowl. “It’s a word that we use to indicate we care, a word for our intimate friends. It’s difficult to translate directly.” When no response was forthcoming, he glanced up at Dorian.

The mage was blinking rapidly as he bit his lip, also staring into the bowl in his lap. Intimate friends. Well. There was a tingle of disappointment in his chest, which he quickly quashed. He’d only just admitted his affection to himself; it was too much to expect that Bull would feel the same way. Still, it was something.

“I thought you weren’t scared any more, little one.” Bull said gently.

“I’m not,” Dorian said, shaking his head. “I’m not.” It sounded like he was attempting to convince himself.

“What is it?” Bull gently took the empty bowl away from Dorian.

“I... didn’t tell you everything. I... haven’t exactly been faithful, Bull.” Dorian squeezed his eyes shut at the admission, but then forced them open to regard Bull.

Bull was looking at him, his expression unreadable. “I know, Dorian. You were with Hawke.”

“How did you know?” he whispered.

Bull huffed a laugh. “I could smell him on you when you got back from Crestwood.”

“Of course you could,” Dorian’s chuckle had no mirth in it.

Bull nodded. There were no accusations in the gesture, just the acceptance of a fact. “And you feel guilty,” he said. It was not a question.

“Yes,” Dorian said.

Dorian was trembling again, though this time it was from shame, not hunger. Bull pulled the mage to him. “Sometimes we need to pull against the ropes, Dorian.”

“You’re not angry?” Dorian couldn’t tell whether he was relieved or disappointed.

“Not angry.” Bull said. “How did it feel?”

With a deep sigh, Dorian admitted: “Familiar.”

Bull nodded. “Would you do it again?” There was something in the way he said it, some hint that Dorian could barely grasp.

There was a long pause. Finally, Dorian spoke. “Not if you don’t want me to.” Dorian held his breath, not sure how this admission would be received.

Bull gave a breathy grunt of appreciation. “You may have that resolve tested sooner than you think, little one. Word is, you’re to be called up for duty soon, if you’re able. At the Western Approach. The Inquisitor really needs you out there, where Hawke is, and she needs me here, with the Chargers.”

Dorian nodded. His petty desires and issues were nothing compared to the needs of the Inquisition. That came first, always, no question.

There was a pause where Bull and Dorian were both lost in thought. Finally, Dorian spoke. “You said you weren’t angry. How do you ...?” He didn’t know how to finish the question.

“Honestly, I think it’s kind of hot.”

“What?” Dorian boggled.

“Why wouldn’t I? My perfect little mage, doing it with Hawke? Did you fuck his mouth, little one?” Bull’s voice had a bit of a rasp to it.

Dorian nodded, speechless at Bull’s apparent lack of jealousy.

“Mmm, my gorgeous little one, thrusting into Hawke’s mouth....” Bull leaned his head back, his eye closed, imagining it. “No, there’s no scenario where that’s not hot.”

Dorian started laughing. “You are the most impossible man I’ve ever met. Do you _want_ me to be with him again?”

Bull considered for a moment. “I think I’d rather that you didn’t touch him.”

Dorian relaxed somewhat, reassured at the clear definition of right and wrong. “I can do that.”

“I didn’t finish, Dorian. I said _you_ couldn’t touch _him_. He can touch you all he wants, as far as I’m concerned.” Bull smirked.

Dorian tensed. There was a lump in his throat - lust or apprehension, it wasn’t clear. His voice cracked as he asked: “What... what if I don’t want him to? Touch me?”

“That’s entirely up to you, little one. You can always say no.”

Dorian realized that was Bull’s version of katoh in this particular scenario. Something in him was loosened, freed by the conscription. “What do you think will happen?” he asked, knowing it would goad Bull.

Bull grinned wickedly. “Why don’t I show you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for the chant that Dorian heard is "Sleep" by Eric Whitacre, which I may have had on repeat for much of the writing of this chapter (and several others, truth be told). [You can listen to it if you like.](https://youtu.be/bxjWNJU8rNE)


	10. Pause for Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian finds out exactly how difficult, and enjoyable, it is to follow Bull's orders concerning Hawke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We take a much-needed break from angst for fluffy smut.

The Inquisition camp in Nazaire’s Pass was beyond dusty. The sand creeped into everything.  No sooner would Dorian manage to get the grit out from under his armor but a gust of wind would undo all the effort. Absolutely _intolerable._

The Inquisitor’s party was not in good spirits. They had defeated the demons at the Ritual Tower, true. And they had discovered who was behind the Warden’s insane “raise an army of demons” plan. But it could hardly be called a victory. After the battle, the companions bickered among themselves, finally falling into stony silence as each dealt with the day’s events on their own.

For Dorian, it had been especially trying. The fighting was one thing - difficult, surely, but nothing worse than a dozen other battles he’d fought alongside the Inquisitor. No, it was seeing Livius Erimond’s sneering face that sent Dorian into a black mood.

Dorian made his way to an outcropping of stone blocks on the edge of the camp, the remains of some ruin or another. There was a little nook, which by some unknown grace was shielded from wind and sun. He sat, grateful to be away from the others for a bit. The dunes and rocks were quite pretty, in their own desolate, dusty way.

Footsteps approached. Dorian tensed slightly, then relaxed when Hawke appeared from behind the rocks. “Managed to find a place to get away? I’m positively jealous.”

Dorian shifted, making room. “Welcome to join me, if you don’t mind brooding.”

Hawke accepted with a nod. “You know him, I take it? Erimond?”

“Not well. But yes. I’d seen him at parties, that sort of thing.” He sighed.

“You alright?” Hawke said, staring over the sands.

This got a mirthless laugh from Dorian. “No. It’s funny, really. I’ve killed, what, dozens of Venatori? Maybe more? Cut them down without a thought. Lavellan points, I shoot. Simple as that. Seeing a familiar face, though.... The thought actually ran through my head. Could I do it? And of course I could. Of course. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that I asked myself the question at all, or my answer.”

Hawke nodded. “Think of how Cullen must feel. All those Red Templars....”

Dorian blinked. “Andraste’s ass, I never thought of that. Well. I feel even worse now. Thank you very much, Garrett.”

Hawke laughed. “You’re one of the only people that calls me Garrett, you know.” He turned to look at Dorian.

“Would you prefer Hawke? Or Champion?” Dorian smiled impishly.

Hawke laughed. “No, I like hearing you say it.”

“You like hearing me say your name?” Dorian flirted automatically. “Well now.” He leaned back to rest his head on the cool stone.

“If you like, I can give you a few more excuses to say it.” Hawke’s gaze was direct.

Dorian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Garrett, I have to tell you... my situation has changed a bit since Crestwood.”

“Ah,” Hawke said delicately, prepared to let the matter drop.

Dorian laughed. “I think perhaps some clarification is in order.” He explained Bull’s very specific proscriptions.

Hawke’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “So, I can have my way with you, eh? Now isn’t _that_ a pretty idea.”

“I’m very, very glad you think so. I almost think Bull would be disappointed if you didn’t.”

With a quick look over the top of the stone ruins, Hawke shifted himself to kneel beside Dorian. He shook off one glove, then ran his fingers along Dorian’s jawline. He brought his thumb to Dorian’s chin, pressing down slightly.

Dorian obediently allowed his mouth to be opened. Hawke’s fingers probed, rubbing along Dorian’s tongue. “Mmmm,” he said. “This certainly does open up a wide variety of possibilities,” he said, closing Dorian’s mouth again.

A flash of disappointed surprise flickered across Dorian’s face as Hawke pulled away.

“We’re about to have company,” Hawke explained.

“Let me guess,” Dorian drawled. “My favorite, monogamy-obsessed, sassy dwarf?”

Hawke burst out laughing. “He _is_ rather obsessed, isn’t he?”

Dorian shook his head. “For someone caught in a hopeless love triangle, you’d think he’d loosen up.”

Hawke’s eyes widened. “What? I didn’t know about this!”

“Watch him with Seeker Cassandra. You’ll see,” Dorian said, sitting up.

“What about the Seeker? Are you two gossiping?” Varric’s face popped around the edge of the stone outcropping.

“Of course we’re gossiping, mother. Totally harmless,” Hawke rolled his eyes.

“Well, the evening meal, such as it is, is ready. I suggest you join us before it becomes more sand than food.”

Dorian was not at all surprised when the flap to his tent opened later that evening. He lay still under on his bedroll. A wind storm had kicked up, causing the tents to rattle loudly.

“I assume you’re awake,” Hawke murmured.

“Yes,” Dorian whispered.

“And it appears you’ve been anticipating things,” Hawke noted, his hand tracing Dorian’s hard flesh through his thin blanket.

“You could say that,” Dorian whispered.

“Good,” Hawke said. He quickly doffed his robes.

Dorian felt him moving but did not turn his head. Hawke gently pulled Dorian’s mouth open, just a bit. Dorian could feel Hawke’s breath just above his lips. Then Hawke was kissing him, gently at first, little swipes of his tongue and nibbles on Dorian’s lips. Dorian fought the urge to kiss back, but could not help but breathe a satisfied whisper.

Hawke’s mouth became more possessive, his tongue now stroking deep, plunging again and again. His hands, meanwhile, were tracing up and down Dorian’s chest. He pinched a nipple, hard, while biting down on Dorian’s lower lip.

It took every ounce of effort Dorian had not to arch in response. When Hawke let up, Dorian swore in Tevene. “This is much harder than I thought it would be,” he whispered.

Hawke paused, leaning back.

“I don’t want to stop,” Dorian whispered quickly.

“No, no, I was just thinking about how best to respond to that opening you just gave me. ‘It’s going to get a lot harder’, maybe? ‘I’ll show you how hard it can get’? So many possibilities.” Hawke tut-tutted.

Dorian found himself unable to contain the silent giggles that wracked through him. It became easier to stop laughing once he felt Hawke’s lips wrap around his cock.

It felt incredible to lie there and just enjoy it. Dorian’s breath grew quick as Hawke began to lightly caress his balls, which were rapidly tightening up against his body.

“Oh no,” Hawke whispered. “You’ve got a lot more _nothing_ to do, yet.”

Once again, Dorian found himself laughing. It felt strange, the sensation of laughing during sex. His earliest experiences had been so desperate and dire, while with Bull, the intensity didn’t leave much room for playfulness. Dorian decided he liked the laughter, as bizarre as it was.

Dorian felt Hawke gently opening his mouth once more. This time, it was Garrett’s cock that invaded. He tipped his head back slightly to allow for a better angle. It was still incredibly awkward, and Dorian did his best to hold back the laughter that threatened to completely ruin the moment.

“Well, this is incredibly awkward,” Hawke said, almost as if he’d read Dorian’s thoughts. Dorian started snickering, which, given what was in his mouth at the time, only made the awkwardness more acute.

“Who is Bull trying to punish here, me or you?” Hawke whispered facetiously as he pulled away. “Did I offend him somehow?”

Dorian held his stomach, his wheezing laughter now threatening to become audible in the other tents. He rolled to his hands and knees, still shaking from laughter. Dorian took a deep breath to calm himself.

A thumb pressed on his chin, opening his mouth. The Hawke pressed into him again. This time, it was not awkward. It was not awkward at all. Dorian’s gasps of laughter became gasps of lust as Hawke wove his hands through his hair, holding him in place as he moved in and out.

As Dorian was unable to do anything but hold still, Hawke’s thrusts gradually got deeper and deeper. Dorian concentrated on catching his breath when he could.

“For someone who’s not doing anything at all, you do it remarkably well,” Hawke whispered, pulling out. He closed Dorian’s mouth and moved around to kneel behind him.

There was a pause, then the sound of a stopper on a vial being pulled. A slick finger ran down the crease of Dorian’s ass. He fought the urge to lean into Hawke’s finger as it sank into him slowly.

It was not long before the fingers were replaced by Hawke sliding himself into Dorian with a hissing exhalation. Hawke’s hands gripped Dorian’s hips, holding him perfectly motionless.

It was agonizingly slow. It felt like a lifetime for Hawke to fully seat himself. And when he did, he paused there, barely moving at all, rocking his hips almost imperceptibly into Dorian.

The sensation was incredible. Dorian bit his lip, trying desperately not to move, to grind against Hawke’s cock. “Please, Garrett,” he said. “I don’t know how much more nothing I can do.”

Hawke gave a long exhale. “Well, you’re about to find out.” He began to thrust into Dorian, hard and fast. Outside, the wind buffeted the tents, masking the sound of their skin smacking together with each thrust.

Dorian relaxed into the sensation, savoring it. Though the circumstances called for them to be somewhat quiet, it was completely unlike the encounters he’d had in Minrathous. There, silence was an inescapable reminder of his failure to live up to his father’s expectations. Now, it was simply out of respect for the people sleeping around them. And to keep the sassy dwarf from clucking like a mother hen.

At the thought of Varric, Dorian began to chuckle again. As the silent laughter shook through him, Hawke hissed a surprised gasp. “By the Maker that feels amazing, Dorian,” he whispered. “What are you... Don’t stop, don’t...” With a final thrust, he emptied himself into Dorian, who was still giggling.

“I’m glad you find the whole thing so amusing,” Hawke said. He pushed Dorian on to his back.

“I’m sorry, Garrett. I didn’t mean to... I just suddenly thought of what Varric would say if he saw us.” Dorian was snickering.

“Andraste’s ass,” Hawke swore, also laughing. “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that you thought about Varric while I was fucking you, or the fact that it felt so good. I feel the overwhelming urge to bathe now, maybe go sing a few chants, never have sex again....”

“I’m sure I’ll find some way to make it up to you,” Dorian whispered. “Once I’m able to move, of course. Rather limited right now.”

“Oh, you’re going to regret this before the night is out, Dorian Pavus. Never fear.” Hawke kissed his way down Dorian’s stomach. He swiped his tongue lazily over Dorian’s half-hard flesh, until it strained against his tongue.

Hawke seemed intent on teasing Dorian to within an inch of his life. The Tevinter laid there passively while Garrett’s tongue did unspeakably wonderful things to him. Not moving against him seemed like an impossibility.

Dorian cast a force barrier around himself. At least this way he could have some resistance to fight against.

Hawke laughed and dispelled the barrier, brushing his hand over Dorian’s stomach.

“You are an evil, evil man, Garrett.” Dorian panted.

It only got worse. Hawke brought him right to the edge. Dorian was clutching the bedroll with both hands when Hawke suddenly stopped.

Dorian’s head snapped up. Hawke leaned over him, waiting, his eyes gleaming in the dim light of the tent.

“Oh no. No,” Dorian shook his head, smiling, as he realized what Hawke was about to do to him.

“First you laugh at me, then you think about Varric? I think it’s only fair, Dorian,” Hawke chuckled. He leaned back down and took Dorian back into his mouth.

Three times, Hawke brought the Tevinter right to the edge of orgasm, only to stop. The first time, Dorian gasped and panted continuously. The second, he whispered a steady stream of supplications: _please Garrett please please oh Garrett please please I can’t please._ The third time, he made no sound at all, as he bit his own forearm to stifle himself, his teeth clamping down hard.

It was too much. Dorian felt as if he was floating, like any sensation at all would tip him over the edge. The ache was almost unbearable. And then, what’s worse, Hawke was no longer kneeling over him, but coming to lie next to Dorian.

“This, I have to see,” Hawke whispered. He conjured a tiny point of light, no bigger than a firefly, to float just above Dorian’s face. He pulled Dorian’s arm away from his mouth, noting with a raised eyebrow the angry red teeth marks on the skin.

“Somebody likes it rough, I see,” Hawke smirked.

Dorian narrowed his eyes. “Garrett,” he said, shaking his head. “This is _ridiculous._ Please.”

“I love it when I can make a handsome man beg.”

One hand traced down Dorian’s stomach. Fingers skipped along the iliac groove, the inside of the thigh, everywhere but where Dorian needed to be touched.

Dorian fought the urge to push Hawke away and finish it himself. Then Hawke poured more oil into his hand, watching Dorian’s reaction.

“Garrett, if you don’t finish this right now I swear by Andraste herself all they’ll find tomorrow is your charred and smoking corpse.” Dorian said, laughing.

Hawke’s eyes widened. “Quite a threat from a man who can’t move.” And then he felt Hawke stroke him, firm and sure, laughter in his eyes as he watched Dorian come, his mouth open in a silent shout, as he released into Hawke’s hand. After, Dorian felt himself grinning like a fool, unable to wipe the smile from his face.

They lay for a few moments, putting off the inevitable. Finally, Hawke shifted. “Well, you tell Bull next time I don’t want to have to work so much. I mean really. Expects me to do his dirty work while you just lie there? Blasted Qunari.” He kissed Dorian’s forehead and pulled on his clothes.

“Garrett?”

“Yes?”

“Try not to get yourself killed,” Dorian said.

“You too, Dorian,” Hawke said. He slipped out of the tent into the desert night.

 

 


	11. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Bull go to Halamshiral.

“That’s it - left, right, left, right, twirl, and - no, that’s my toe you’re stepping on, Vira.” Dorian broke away from Inquisitor Lavellan’s arms. When he had joined the Inquisition, Dorian had a reasonable idea of what would likely be expected of him - fighting, spellcasting, saving the world while looking dashing, that sort of thing. Teaching dance lessons was not on the list. However, Empress Celene’s ball was rapidly approaching; preparing the Inquisitor for the Grand Game was of the utmost importance.

Vivienne spoke up from the side of the room, where she had been watching the proceedings. “Perhaps if we demonstrated, my dear.” She rose with leonine grace and offered Dorian her hand.

Leliana strummed her lute to accompany them. Dorian gave a small bow to Vivienne, who curtseyed in response. With the ease of long practice, they swirled throughout the room.

“I must say, darling, the Tevinter approach to this dance is much bolder,” Vivienne noted as Dorian guided her into a low dip.

“That’s because we’re so hot-blooded, my dear.”

Vira snorted. “Am I going to have to talk like that?” she asked Josephine. “‘Darling’ and ‘my dear’ are not really part of my vocabulary.”

Josephine gave a delightful peal of laughter. “Oh, no no, Inquisitor. ‘Darling’ and ‘my dear’ are considered insults in the Grand Game. Stick to titles and you’ll be fine.”

Vira sighed. “Dorian, you’re going to have quite a bit of weight to carry on this one, I’m afraid.”

“Inquisitor, I have no doubt that you will be absolutely devastating in court. You’ll be smashing.” With another bow, he ended the dance with Vivienne. “Now, let’s try it again, Vira. Once you get the hang of following, I’ll teach you to lead.”

“You mean I have to do it backwards too?”

Leliana laughed. “Oh yes, Inquisitor. There will be many ladies clamoring for a dance. As Inquisitor, you will be expected to lead.”

The elf groaned and dragged her hands down her face in dismay.

Dorian was quite looking forward to the ball, actually. He would be attending, as were all of the Inquisitor’s inner circle, with a specific purpose. Most of the others were to gather information or to provide discreet backup if the Inquisitor found herself in a fight. His job, however, was to create a distraction. Having a Tevinter at the Orlesian court would be quite the noteworthy event; it was hoped that his prodigious charm would deflect some attention away from the Inquisitor herself, allowing the elf to pursue the assassin in the palace.

As such, he was intimately involved in the preparations for the Empress’ ball. He met with Josephine, Leliana, and Vivienne to discuss the political and court intrigues, he taught Lavellan to dance, and he pored over the guest list to memorize titles. He even had a hand in designing the Inquisition regalia that most of them would wear, save Cole. Dorian wasn’t sure if Cole even wore clothes or if the tatty rags he sported were part of his manifestation.

Dorian selected a military-inspired outfit, naturally, one that would flatter either sex. A scarlet jacket with a high banded collar, set off with a blue sash at the waist, atop fitted black trousers. The result was that, although the outfit was reasonably attractive on all of them, Dorian looked like he was born to wear it. Coincidence, surely.

On the day of the ball, the Inquisition party stopped outside the gates of Halamshiral to make final preparations. Lavellan was extremely nervous, tugging at her clothes and fretting; the court was not her comfort zone. Dorian, however, felt himself grow calm. He adjusted his sash and moustache, deftly applied a hint of kohl around his eyes, and then he was done. With a deep breath, he summoned an imperious, lofty expression and strode into the palace alongside the Iron Bull.

Halamshiral was impressive, even to Dorian’s refined tastes. After being announced, he began his assault on the court. First, he was sure to have a highly visible conversation with the Inquisitor, just after she greeted the Empress. The whole ballroom watched him bow gallantly, kiss her hand, and speak to her. They all saw the familiar way she touched his shoulder, all heard the bright peal of laughter that was her response to his words.

“Are you ready for this, my dear?” Dorian drawled.

“Wait, you just said ‘my dear’. Are you insulting me, Dorian?” Lavellan said, smiling.

“Never, Your Worship. I think we’ve fulfilled our need to establish my close, personal relationship with you. Enjoy the ball. Try not to stab too many people. I know how much you love to do that, but blood does tend to stain the marble.”

Another laugh, another bow, and it was done. Dorian was now _the_ person to speak to for the evening. As they had planned, Leliana and Josephine descended on him, to make introductions to a bevy of courtiers.

Dorian was _spectacular._ He flirted, he chatted, he charmed. Within the space of a half-hour he no longer needed to move about; little clots of people were discreetly queuing up to speak to him. Dorian stood tall, one hand resting behind his back, the other holding a glass of wine, his posture as impeccable as his moustache.

From across the room, the Iron Bull watched with interest. Varric sidled up to him. “Your little mage is making quite the impression.”

Bull grunted, not taking his eye off Dorian.

Varric watched him watch Dorian. “You seem pretty intent, there, Tiny. I didn’t think you’d be interested in the machinations of the court.”

“I’m not. I think all these guys are mask-licking assholes. What I am interested in is power. I knew Dorian was a powerful fighter, and an even more powerful mage, but that?” He nodded towards Dorian. “That is _power._ Look at him. He just got here and he’s already got the entire court around his little finger.” Bull grunted again.

“You’re a very complex individual, Tiny,” Varric said.

“Not really,” Bull said. “It just seems like that if you’re not in the Qun.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

The first bell rang. Dorian casually glanced over at Leliana across the room, even as he continued to chat with Monsieur Duchard, a member of the Council of Heralds. “Of course, I agree, Phillippe,” Dorian said. Leliana nodded discreetly. “9:36 was a spectacular year for Nevarran reds, though I’m afraid not for Antiva. Simply dreadful. Now, I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. It’s been a pleasure.” He nodded a short bow to the nobleman and walked over to the Iron Bull, setting his empty drink on a tray as a servant passed.

“Hello,” Dorian smirked. “Enjoying the show? I’ve felt you looking at me all evening.”

Bull stared at Dorian, his gaze very intent.

“My dear Bull, you look like you’re about to eat me.” Dorian murmured.

“That can be arranged,” Bull said.

Dorian laughed lightly. “I came to ask you to dance.” The second bell rang. Dorian swiveled around as if surveying the room. Leliana’s nod was no longer discreet but urgent. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Dorian’s face did not change expression, but a flurry of static ran all along Bull’s chest.

Bull’s jaw clenched. With a deep inhale, he held out his arm. Dorian nodded and took his elbow.

The dance was a pre-planned distraction. The Inquisitor’s absence from the ball would be noticed. Leliana was keeping track of Lavellan’s comings and goings. Apparently the Inquisitor had not yet returned from sneaking around the palace. Time for a diversion.

To say the sight of Dorian dancing with the Iron Bull was a shock to the court would be an understatement. The Inquisition might as well have dropped a bomb in the ballroom. Although the floor had been crowded, within seconds, the other dancers scattered to make way for the huge warrior and his handsome, imperious partner.

When Leliana and Dorian had first come up with the idea, Dorian was afraid that Bull would object or refuse. However, the Qunari thought the whole idea was hilarious and agreed right away. He even took a few dancing lessons.

Thanks to a well-timed request by Josephine, the dance was sultry, an Antivan tango full of lunges and dips. Dorian laced his palm with current, sending the tingling into Bull’s hand through their gloves.

The Iron Bull murmured into Dorian’s ear. “Fuck, little mage, seeing you like this?” Bull growled in appreciation.

“I’m glad you approve,” Dorian said, one eyebrow raised.

“Greatly,” Bull said, bending Dorian backwards into a low dip, then pulling him back in a fluid motion.

“It seems to be having the desired effect.” The mage appraised the crowd. Although not every eye was on them, there were very few that were not, and no doubt Leliana had made note of those.

“It’s having an effect on me,” Bull growled.

“I see that.” Dorian noted. “Do try to keep it under control, Bull.”

“You keep being so sexy and powerful, I’m not sure how much control I’m gonna have.” One final dip and the dance was concluded, to a smattering of applause.

As expected, Dorian was immediately swamped with requests for dances. Bull, unsurprisingly, was not. Dorian accepted the requests based on the political power of his potential partner. After twirling about the room with an elderly dowager, a young and quite handsome heir to a duchy, and a baroness with wandering hands, Dorian begged off his remaining admirers and left the dance floor.

He found Commander Cullen on the upper tier of the ballroom. Dorian had to admit the Commander looked almost as good as he did in the Inquisition uniform. The poor man was completely out of his depth, however, and it showed.

“Care for a dance, Commander?” Dorian murmured into his ear, standing just behind him.

Cullen practically jumped out of his skin. “No thank you!” The words were out of his lips before he had even fully turned to see who was asking. “Oh, it’s you. Maker’s breath. I can’t wait for this to be over.”

Dorian laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “No stomach for the Grand Game, I take it?”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “These overstuffed peacocks turn my stomach,” he growled.

Dorian blinked at him mildly, raising an eyebrow.

“Maker’s breath, I didn’t mean... argh, I am terrible at this.” Cullen said. “I’m sorry, Dorian. You know that’s not how I think about _you.”_

Dorian accepted the apology with a tilt of the head. “I’m glad you think about me at all, I suppose.”

“How was your dance with Bull?” Cullen asked politely.

Dorian laughed. “Electrifying. Bull could hardly _contain_ his excitement. He was simply bursting at the seams. My dear Commander, your face is almost as red as your uniform. Did I say something to discomfit you?” With a last chuckle, Dorian left Cullen alone with his flaming cheeks.

The evening wore on. Eventually, Lavellan made her move. She danced with Grand Duchess Florianne; Dorian noted that she executed the steps flawlessly. A while later she then exposed Florianne as a traitor to the entire court. It gave him the shivers, all the intrigue. It was almost like being home.

After that, the ball continued, although the festivities became slightly more debauched. Dorian had slipped out to the garden for a breath of fresh air. Well, that was the official reason. The real purpose was to allow Bull to find him. Dorian did _rather_ enjoy being pursued, after all.

It did not take long. A horned figure loomed behind him. Dorian felt him lean over to murmur into his ear. “How much longer am I gonna have to chase you, little one? How much longer we gonna keep this up?”

Dorian smirked. “Forever.” He tossed off the word lightly - a joke. A second later he realized what he’d said. His stomach flipped over.

“That’s a long time, kadan.” Bull pulled Dorian around to face him. Over the Bull’s shoulder, Dorian could see Lavellan and Cullen dancing on a balcony. The Commander was looking down at her in adoration. It was like something out of a fairy tale. The fairy tales that Dorian had always told himself were lies, things that happened to other people, not him. He told himself over and over and eventually believed it.

After seeing his father in Redcliffe, Dorian had grudgingly come to accept that he had affection for Bull. A great deal of it, in fact, though the mage was careful not to measure how much. The relief of not having to hide their relationship, even as limited as Dorian understood it to be, was still a new experience. He was content with his status as Bull’s intimate friend. He did not expect, or even bring himself to hope for, more than that.

In watching Cullen and Vira gaze into each other’s eyes, perhaps it could be understood that Dorian was surprised to realize he’d seen someone give that look to him. Indeed, he’d seen it now countless times. It was the expression Bull had when they were together, when Dorian’s words left him, as they had now. He’d always presumed that the adoration, the praise, were simply Bull’s foreplay, nothing more. It had never occurred to him that Bull might have been sincere about it.

“We... we look like that,” the mage whispered.

Bull followed Dorian’s line of sight towards the dancing couple, then looked back at the mage, assessing the wonder in his face, the fear, the confusion, the lips parted for words that would not come.

“Come with me,” Bull commanded.

He led Dorian by the hand to a secluded alcove, one of many dotted throughout the garden. Indeed, one could easily leap to the conclusion that the garden had been designed specifically for secret trysts and assassins to lie in wait. It was Orlais, so that was a distinct possibility.

“Oh, my pretty mage, you were fucking magnificent tonight,” Bull said. He stripped the belt from Dorian’s waist and looped it around his wrists. “Watching you, all that power. I can’t get enough of you, little one.” He secured the loose end of the belt to the trellis attached to the garden wall, hoisting Dorian’s arms over his head.

Dorian whimpered quietly, his flesh already straining against his pants. Bull palmed him through the fabric. “If I didn’t think you’d set the garden on fire, I’d fuck you right here, little one,” Bull growled into his ear. “So we’ll save that for later, when I tie you to one of these big, fancy beds, make you beg for it, kadan, make you beg for me. But for now, I need a taste of my pretty little mage.”

Dorian sighed as Bull took him into his mouth. He looked down and saw that Bull was also stroking himself with one hand. Then Bull looked up, locking eyes with Dorian, even as he took all of the mage into his mouth. He allowed Dorian’s hips to buck into him slightly, growling against the hard flesh.

A word. Only one, repeated over and over, tumbling out of Dorian’s mouth, first soundlessly, then breath, then whisper, then a moan. Not a plea, not begging, not supplication, but a promise, a statement of fact. _Amatus._

Dorian came into Bull’s mouth, still making eye contact. As soon as he finished Bull rose and unhooked the belt, letting the now dizzy mage fall to his knees. He erupted almost as soon as Dorian’s lips wrapped around him, thrusting into the mage’s mouth with a breathy growl.

After a slight pause to rearrange clothes and smoothe hair, they walked back into the garden. Dorian still didn’t trust himself to speak, knowing Bull would ask him what he had been saying.

“You finally figured it out, huh?” Bull grunted.

“Figured what out?” Dorian frowned.

“That I mean what I say, kadan. I always have.”

Dorian turned to him. “That word means more than you told me, though, doesn’t it? Difficult to translate, as I recall. ”

Bull grinned. “It means ‘my heart’. You didn’t seem quite ready for that though.”

“Again with the mind-reading. Quite tiresome, really. You should consider another hobby, Bull.” Dorian said sourly.

“Well, I don’t know what amatus means. How about you tell me that, little one?”

Dorian cleared his throat. “It... it comes from the root word amar, to....” His voice broke slightly. “To love.”

Bull did not press the issue, did not make note of the way Dorian shook when he said it, did not call attention to the way the mage blinked rapidly. He did, however, put his arm around Dorian’s shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck with his thumb. “You know, they have this amazing gooey cheese stuff inside. I think you should try it. Goes great with the fizzy wine.”

“It’s called brie and champagne, you brute. Honestly. I can’t take you anywhere.”


	12. The Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull heads to the Storm Coast to broker an alliance with the Qun, leaving Dorian behind. No telling what the mage will get up to in his absence.

Dorian was only slightly offended that the Inquisitor had not invited him to go to the Storm Coast. Apparently his good looks and charm were not sufficient to overcome the fact that bringing a Tevinter to broker an alliance with the Qun would be a massive liability.

Before Bull left, he issued a challenge to Dorian. “I’ll be gone a week. Save yourself for me. I want you screaming for it when I get back.” Just the way he said the words was enough to send blood rushing to all sorts of places. And without being able to relieve the tension by touching himself? Dorian feared the week would be very long, indeed.

He threw himself into distractions, of which there were plenty. His training duties had doubled, as a new batch of recruits was added. Not to mention the research - he was trying to determine Corypheus’ lineage. And, of course, there were his games of chess with Cullen.

They had developed quite a strong friendship, surprising to them both. Dorian flirted and insulted Cullen, and Cullen blushed and insulted him right back. Although now that the Commander had begun a romance with Inquisitor Lavellan, the blushing had decreased significantly. In fact, the tempting blond had actually begun to loosen up and flirt back. Well, what qualified for flirting from Cullen, anyway. By Dorian’s standards, he might as well have been reading one of Josephine’s reports. Still it was progress.

On the sixth day of Bull’s absence, Dorian sauntered into the garden, where the Commander was setting up the board. “Hello, _Commander,”_ the mage said.

Cullen sighed. “Only you can make my title sound dirty, Dorian. How goes the research?”

“Fine, fine,” Dorian waved his hand in circles. “Genealogy is not my favorite topic, but I suffer through. Oh, the pain I endure for the Inquisitor.” He made an opening salvo with a pawn.

“Not _just_ for her, or so I hear,” Cullen said, setting one of his own pawns into place.

“Why Cullen, whatever do you mean?” Dorian smirked, moving one of his knights.

Cullen’s face was regarding the board. Without moving his head, he looked up at Dorian through his lashes. A positively devilish half-smile played on his lips. For the first time, Dorian noted the scar on that otherwise perfect mouth.

“Oh, I think the whole keep knows what you and Bull _get up_ to,” Cullen said, his voice low. He leaned back in his seat, leaning slightly to one side, his legs sprawled open casually.

Dorian blinked rapidly. This was not the Cullen he was used to playing with. “Commander, what a thing to suggest,” Dorian spluttered. It was weak, and they both knew it.

“I don’t think I’d like being tied down,” Cullen said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be talking about this at all, much less during a chess match in a busy garden. He moved a bishop casually. “Just having to lie there, taking it, unable to move....”

Dorian stared at the Commander in shock, his mouth open. He noted that his body had, unfortunately, decided that the sound of Cullen saying such things was in fact a fascinating concept that required more attention. He shut his mouth with an audible ‘clop’ and shifted in his seat, hoping the change in posture would reduce the pressure somewhat. “Speaking of moves, I believe it is yours, Cullen.”

The Commander shot another lazy half-grin at the mage. Andraste’s ass, what was going on? “Are you trying to distract me from the game, Commander?” Dorian asked.

“It appears to be working,” Cullen purred, yes _purred,_ and _how in the Maker’s hairy balls did he do that with his voice?_ “You’re two moves away from check.”

“Fasta vass,” Dorian hissed, forcing himself to focus on the board. This proved a fruitless defense, as Cullen chose that moment to start fiddling with his castle, running his gloved fingers up and down the shaft idly.

“Commander, I demand you tell me what is going on,” Dorian said through gritted teeth.

“Whatever do you mean, Dorian? I would think that a relaxing game of chess is just what you’d need, in your state.” Cullen tipped his head to the side innocently. He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture Dorian had seen a thousand times. This time, however, Cullen rubbed the muscles quite hard. “Mmmm, I seem to be quite tense.” He shut his eyes and leaned into his hand.

“What do... what do you mean, ‘in my state’?” Dorian frowned. He shoved his king out of the way of Cullen’s bishop and immediately regretted it.

“Oh, you know, I had a quick chat with Bull before he left. He told me to keep an eye on you. No knowing what sorts of mischief you’d _get up_ to on your own. Check. ”

Dorian looked up to the sky and let out a stream of invectives in Tevene. “Commander. This is very unsportsmanlike.”

“As if you don’t _cheat_ every chance you get?” Cullen smirked.

As if Dorian hadn’t wanted to cheat on Bull’s command since the day he left. “Am I dreaming, Commander? Is this the Fade? Am I in the grip of a desire demon? Because that was completely unfair.”

At the mention of the demon, a shadow flickered over Cullen’s face.

Dorian suddenly remembered what Cullen had to endure at Kinloch Hold, or at least what little the Commander had been willing to divulge. “Kaffas,” Dorian swore. “I’m sorry, Commander. I forgot myself.”

Cullen gave him a tight, wolfish grin. “It’s perfectly fine, Dorian. Checkmate, by the way. As you probably won’t be standing anytime soon, I’ll leave you to clear the board.” He patted Dorian on the shoulder as he passed the suffering mage. Cullen let his hand linger a shade too long on the back of Dorian’s neck.

It was, indeed, some time before Dorian felt that he could stand. Muttering about the duplicity of Fereldans, he made his way to the baths.

Dorian pumped water into a basin and got in without heating it first. The water was cold. Very cold. It did him a world of good.

The footsteps behind him were a bit of a shock, though in retrospect they shouldn’t have been. “Washing off the shame of losing?” Cullen’s voice rang through the room.

Dorian’s teeth began to chatter. There was nothing in Thedas that would get him to move out of the basin, however.

Cullen knelt beside the tub. He pulled his leather gloves off, finger by finger, then dipped his hand into the water. How could the man make even that simple gesture so erotic? “Dorian, you cannot tell me that this is even remotely comfortable.”

“I thought it was the Fereldan way,” Dorian said. “Suffering a cold bath brings you closer to the Maker and all that?”

“Dorian, you’re turning blue. Please don’t do this to yourself.” Cullen reaching out to shake him by the shoulder. It was a friendly gesture. Anyone walking by would only see the Commander doing his part to support a member of the Inquisition. They would not see the tiny circles that Cullen’s fingers were rubbing into the mage’s neck.

Dorian had two choices. Heat the water slightly to stave off hypothermia so that he could avoid rising in front of the Commander, or get out of the water and dressed as quickly as possible. He chose the latter.

“Well, this has been fun, Commander, but I have several volumes of Tevinter genealogical texts to wade through. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dorian did not look at the Commander at all, did not see the half-smile and that scar by the Maker how had he never noticed it before today?

The next morning, a half-dozen battlemages stood at attention in the practice ring, trying, and failing, not to look nervous as Dorian circled them in inspection. “Yes, quite,” he drawled, returning to the front of the group. “Well, let’s get started, shall we? Forms one through five.”

There was a pause. “Now,” Dorian clarified impatiently, waving his hand.

The battlemages roused themselves and began to run through the basic forms of Procella Dracona - kicks, blows with staff and hand, defensive dodges, and tumbles. Dorian watched them with a critical eye, his arms crossed, one hand stroking his chin thoughtfully.

With a frustrated sigh, he called out, “Thomas, if I have to tell you one more time not to lock your knees on four, I’ll have them forcibly removed.”

Dorian was surprised to find he quite enjoyed his role as a trainer. Being able to flagrantly show off in the practice ring had been the initial allure, of course. But after a week, he found himself growing fond of his role as mentor to these stuffy yet eager southern mages. Getting them to loosen up about their magical abilities had been quite satisfying.

He clapped his hands, calling the exercise to a halt. “All right you lot, time for target practice.” He waved a hand towards the other end of the courtyard, where the practice dummies were set up against the thick stone walls. “Ice today,” he called out, pointing at the rack of staves. His students dutifully selected a weakened ice staff.

“Now,” he said, grabbing the final staff and whirling it a few times. “Even you southern barbarians must know that ice projectiles act differently from fireballs and lightning bolts. Can anyone tell me how and why?”

Six pairs of dumbfounded eyes blinked at him. Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture so often repeated it was now second nature. When he looked up, Cullen was leaning against the wall to the Quartermaster's office, wearing his utterly devastating half-smile. Dorian swallowed hard and turned his attention back to his students.

“So help me Maker, I didn’t think you lot could actually be stupider than you look. What do they teach you here? Don’t you read books?” The words were harsh, but the tone was not. Well, not too much. He had to have a _little_ authority.

“Ice moves slower...” Dorian waved his hand in a circle, trying to coax it out of them. He gave up and just told them the answer. “Ice moves slower because there are water particles in the air, which are then frozen in contact with the magic, increasing the size of the projectile as it travels, adding more mass, more friction, therefore slowing the whole thing down. Is that clear?”

“Like a snowball down a hill, ser?” Tilia raised her hand tentatively.

“Ah, thank the Maker for you Tilia, I don’t know how you can put up with the rest of them.” His students snickered. “Except that you’re actually also wrong. A snowball rolling down a hill will get faster, not slower, because the increase in mass is much more dramatic, and... forget I said anything, this is too complicated already. Just remember, ice is slower than fire or lightning.”

“To continue,” Dorian said. “Ice will therefore require more muscle behind it than fire, unless you are purposely trying to slow it down, which is a lesson for another day. Who can remind me why more physical force is a good thing?”

Thomas raised his hand. “Because channeling the magic through a moving item requires less mana for the same effect?”

“Thomas, I could kiss you, but I won’t. That’s exactly right. Now, let me demonstrate. I’m going to exaggerate the time difference slightly so you can see it. Brend, toss me a fire staff as well, would you?”

They backed away as Dorian held a staff in each hand. The battlemages looked nervous.

“What, you’ve never seen double-wielding?” Dorian said in astonishment. He looked at Cullen.

The former Templar shook his head. “I’ve never seen it,” Cullen confirmed with a small grin.

“It’s not supposed to be possible, ser,” Brend said.

Dorian shook his head. “Fasta vass, how do you even manage to buckle your boots down here? Regardless, it is very possible. Attend, please.” He nodded toward the targets.

The mage brought both staves up simultaneously, shooting both a fireball and an ice shard at each dummy, hitting both dead center. As predicted, the fireball hit a moment sooner than the ice.

“Now. If I use slightly more snap in the arm wielding ice, the delay is accounted for.” He repeated the procedure, this time hitting targets at the same time.

“Okay, your turn, my little barbarians. Use Form Six, Serpent-arm.”

Dorian walked warily over to Cullen. “Hello Commander.”

“You do know you’ve just upset a very firmly ingrained principle of magic use with that little display. Vivienne is going to be furious with you.”

“Wonderful,” Dorian said, rolling his eyes. “Next she’ll be insisting that they eat only mush, to save their precious teeth.”

“It’s going well, then?” Cullen nodded at Dorian’s students.

Dorian regarded the Commander with a fair amount of distrust, but Cullen seemed intent on talking about the training, nothing more. “Quite well. Once I’m done with them, they’ll be as good as a child in Tevinter with one hand tied behind her back.” Dorian said.

“You spoil us, Dorian.”

A group of regular troops showed up to use the practice area, signalling the end of the lesson. “Well, that’s my cue,” Dorian said.

“Make it good,” Cullen said. “You know I love watching you work.”

Dorian didn’t trust himself to answer. “Hold!” he called out to his students. “Alright, that’s it for the day. Good work and all that. I’m still tremendously embarrassed by all of you,” he said in a tone that indicated the precise opposite.

His students stood there, watching him. It was their little game, goading Dorian into showing them some advanced technique or other. “Ser, can’t you show us something else?” Tilia said.

“Oh no. Not today. I’ve already shown you plenty.” Dorian said.

“I’ve got an idea,” Cullen called out.

 _Maker, no._ Dorian gritted his teeth. “What’s that, Commander?”

“Let’s spar. Unarmed combat. It’ll be good for both groups to see.” His grin probably appeared innocent to everyone but Dorian.

The mage narrowed his eyes. “What a lovely idea,” he spat out from gritted teeth.

The troops cheered. Cullen began stripping off his armor. Slowly. Dorian looked at him, literally biting his tongue to prevent himself from hurling a stream of expletives at the Commander.

Dorian did the same, divesting himself of his greaves and cowters and unbuckling the belt which carried his spellbook, handing it carefully to Thomas. He was very, very happy that he’d chosen to wear a codpiece today. Normally, he wouldn’t bother, but given the fact that the slightest movements were enough to make his body leap to attention, he figured a bit of extra protection was worth it. He turned back to Cullen.

The Commander was now wearing only leather trousers, tunic, and leather cuffs on his wrists. Without breaking eye contact, he raised the hem of his tunic, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side, flexing his (oh sweet Maker) formidable biceps in the process.

Dorian looked up into the sky and reluctantly unbuckled his vest, stripping naked to the waist. They walked into the ring, circling each other, hands held wide.

Cullen lunged at Dorian; the mage skipped out of the way easily. “You’ll have to do better than that, Commander.” He aimed a kick to the blond’s kidneys and was rewarded with the satisfying sound of contact. The blow was not strong enough to hurt, of course; it was only intended to throw Cullen off balance. Dimly, Dorian heard the sound of a horn. The Inquisitor was back.

Cullen swooped into a low, crouching kick. Dorian leapt into a tumble to avoid being tripped. He rolled out of the maneuver and aimed a punch at the Commander’s stomach.

Cullen blocked it, using Dorian’s momentum to twist the mage into a hold. By now they were both sweating, their skin slick as Cullen pressed his chest into Dorian’s back.

“You do _move_ quite well,” Cullen said into Dorian’s ear.

“Commander, I’ve never hated you more,” Dorian spat out. He broke the hold, flipping Cullen to the ground. Without thinking, he automatically countered with a submission hold of his own. His legs wrapped around Cullen’s in a kneebar. He immediately groaned; the move was a mistake, not from a martial perspective, but due to his precarious state of constant semi-arousal. Having Cullen’s absolutely _delicious_ thigh grinding into Dorian’s crotch was _not_ a good idea.

Cullen laughed. Dorian released the hold and leapt away from the Commander. He suddenly realized the situation. He was more than a match for Cullen; the ex-Templar only had minimal training in unarmed combat. But the Commander’s intent was not to win; it was to force Dorian into trapping him in as many holds as possible. Purely for the good of the troops, of course.

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. He launched his body forward in a series of handsprings and cartwheels, designed to prevent Cullen from guessing his next move. He landed and used his momentum to bring Cullen down, forcing him into a shoulder lock.

“Yield,” Dorian called out. The contact with the Commander’s naked chest was more than he could handle.

Cullen smirked up at him. He writhed a bit under Dorian, their sweat-slickened skin rubbing together. He could feel his nipples hardening in response.

Dorian closed his eyes in frustration. His codpiece was now uncomfortably tight. “Cullen,” he said urgently.

The Commander’s eyes flicked over Dorian’s shoulder and his grin widened.

“Well, isn’t this a sight. Look at you, little mage. You caught yourself a Commander.” Bull’s voice rang out through the ring.

“I yield,” Cullen said loudly.

The crowd laughed and applauded as Dorian released Cullen from the hold. They shook hands. Dorian limped painfully to the side of the ring.

“Aw, did the Commander hurt you?” Bull smirked.

“No, he did not,” Dorian said through gritted teeth. “Were you able to secure the alliance?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

Bull’s smile faded. He shook his head.

Dorian frowned. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

Bull sighed. “We had to pick the Chargers or the alliance.”

Dorian blanched. He glanced behind Bull; Krem and the others were trickling in. Exhaling in relief, he shook his head. “That’s not all there is to it, is there?”

With a deep breath, Bull responded. “I’m Tal-Vashoth now, little one.”

Horror crept across Dorian’s face. “What? How could they do that?”

Bull shrugged. “From their perspective, it makes sense. Anyway. I’ve still got my boys. That’s all that matters.” He looked back at the Chargers, gathered in one end of the courtyard.

Dorian opened his mouth to say, _and you’ve got me,_ but nothing came out. His mouth was still open when Bull turned back to him.

Bull smiled. “So, pretty little mage, how was your week?”

Dorian glared at Bull. “I can’t decide who I hate more, you or Cullen. Happy?”

Bull grinned. “You know I’d never make you do something I wasn’t willing to do myself.”

Dorian’s eyes widened. “You didn’t...?”

“No, kadan. I waited for you. But I can’t wait much longer.” He made to lunge towards the mage, but then froze in place.

“I can walk,” Dorian said, maintaining the force barrier that held Bull motionless, knowing that Bull found the flagrant display of magical power to be arousing. “I’ll just give myself a head start, shall I?” He sprinted to the quartermaster’s office.

Bursting through the door, Dorian panted at Ser Morris. “You’ve got about thirty seconds to clear out, I’m afraid. Important Inquisition business.”

“What? But... I don’t....”

The door almost exploded off its hinges. Bull stood there, breathing heavy. Dorian nimbly skipped up the steps.

“Out,” Bull said to the shaking man behind the desk. “Go.”

Dorian ducked his head down from the second floor. “Just give us an hour. Maybe two. There’s a dear.” With a throaty chuckle, he disappeared again as Bull took the stairs two at a time.

The quartermaster swallowed hard. “I’ll... I’ll just... go, then,” he said to no one, cringing at the sounds coming from the second floor. He shut the door behind him.

Bull didn’t even wait for the door to shut fully before attacking Dorian with his hands and mouth, shoving the mage roughly against the wall. The trousers, unfortunately, were a casualty as Bull ripped them away from Dorian’s body, still pinned to the rough wood.

Dorian bit Bull’s shoulder, hard, as his straining cock sprang free from its confines. Bull flipped him around to face the wall. He kicked Dorian’s feet apart, spreading the mage open. After a brief moment to retrieve the oil from his pocket, Bull pushed a finger in. Then two. Then three, giving Dorian the bare minimum amount of time in between to adapt.

Not that the mage seemed to mind. Dorian was whispering a steady stream of “yes” and “please” and “more” while bucking back on Bull's fingers. Bull flipped him around, hoisting Dorian by the ass. The mage wrapped his legs and arms around Bull, shuddering and gasping when Bull guided himself past the tight band of muscle.

“Fuck, Dorian, you are so gorgeous. Look at you, taking me, so tight, so perfect. Been waiting for this, little one. Been waiting for you. Waiting to take this perfect ass. Look at me, Kadan. Look at me while I fuck you.”

Dorian was panting uncontrollably. Bull pushed him against the wall, hard, using the wood as leverage to pump himself in and out. “Touch yourself, Dorian,” he commanded. He grabbed one of Dorian’s hands with his own, smearing it with oil.

Dorian reached between them to stroke himself. The relief of it was almost too much. He moaned, biting his lip.

“Louder, Dorian. Let me hear you moan for me. I want to see that gorgeous face come undone. Come for me, little one, let me see you and hear you. Come. Come.”

It did not take long. After two days of torment at the hands of Cullen, Dorian was frantic with need. He spurted into his own hand, his ass clenching around the Qunari’s cock. The sensation spurred Bull to thrust even harder. It was only a moment later that Bull emptied himself into the mage.

They rested, panting, Dorian still crushed against the wall. “We’re going to get a talking to, aren’t we?” Dorian said. “Kicking the poor man out in the middle of the day.”

Bull grunted. “Probably.” There was a pause. “If we’re going to get in trouble, we might as well earn it.”

Dorian could not have agreed more.


	13. Collapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets left behind in the battle for Adamant Fortress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's POV is in [located here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3702131/chapters/8639350) if you're interested in the actual battle.

The battle at Adamant danced on the edge of a knife. The Inquisition forces, led by Commander Cullen, had breached the walls, but unleashed an army of demons in the process. Dorian hadn’t grasped what ‘army of demons’ would literally mean until he experienced it. It was terrifying.

The Inquisitor and her inner circle had broken off from the main force, infiltrating the fortress to free the walls and chokepoints for the troops. Lavellan, as always, lead her motley band of companions from the front, her daggers whirling and twisting, a deadly storm of blades.

Dorian had been towards the back of the group. As a necromancer, he raised up those the others had cut down, creating a temporary army of blue-tinged demons and Wardens that guarded their rear as they pressed into the fortress.

As such, he had a fantastic view of the exact moment his world collapsed. Warden Commander Clarel turned at the last moment on Erimond, even as the huge crimson dragon wheeled overhead. Dorian ran to catch them, but then, the stones shifted under his feet. He saw the figures fall: Lavellan, Cole, Hawke and Stroud, Solas. And Bull. A flash of green light from the bottom of the wall and they were gone. _No._

_No._

Had Blackwall not dragged him away from the crumbling edge, Dorian would have followed a moment later. Indeed, he wanted to fall. Wanted to pitch forward into the blackness that seemed to suddenly surround him.

It was Varric that roused him. “Sparkler! _Move!”_ With a rough shove, the dwarf pushed him back down through the fortress.

Dorian blinked, then nodded. It was not difficult to raise a wall around the emptiness that suddenly seemed to fill him. He’d lived with just such fortifications his whole life. Bull may have spent months knocking them down, but within a split second, the mage had re-established that internal shield, as easily as he raised a barrier around his body with magic. The emptiness that threatened to swallow him from within was contained. He threw himself into the battle.

A horn sounded the retreat. The dragon had thrown everything into chaos. All of the non-mage Wardens had turned on the demons when the dragon had appeared. That still left a substantial number of Warden mages to contend with, however. Dorian focused on dispelling their magic as the remaining companions hacked their way out of the fortress.

Cullen was there. Dorian hardly heard him address the troops at first. Words. So many words. But then some few pierced his armor. The Commander stood on a pile of rubble to address his troops. “You saw the Herald of Andraste fall,” he said, his voice strong and clear. “We all did. But she did not land. She is in the Fade, where she has walked before. Perhaps Andraste will guide her safely home to us once more. We must clear a path for her. We must take the courtyard!” he shouted, drawing his sword. “For Andraste! For the Maker! For the Inquisitor!”

Dorian blinked. A spark of hope tried to ignite in his chest. This he quickly snuffed out. _No._

The troops made their way to the center of the fortress, where the remaining demons and Warden mages had gathered. Behind the central gates, the enemies guarded a huge Fade rift, all staring into the shifting green light as if waiting for something.

And then the battle commenced. If it was heroic, Dorian hardly noticed. He fought automatically, his body and magic working in tandem, his mind almost blank. Varric had gone down, he noted, and was whisked off the field by Vivienne. The demons kept coming. Perhaps he would die. Well. There are worse ways to go.

The rift exploded with light. Five figures can tumbling out. One had horns. Lavellan rolled to her feet, the anchor already flashing. She held her palm aloft, and with a dismissive wave of her hand, closed the rift. Instantly, all the demons disappeared. The remaining Warden mages tumbled to the ground in shock as the binding spell was ripped away.

More words. The Inquisitor was speaking; no doubt it was very inspirational. Dorian could do little else but stand motionless as the adrenaline ebbed away. He knew Bull was looking at him, he could feel it. _No._

All around him, people were speaking and moving and bustling. People would expect him to do the same. Dorian blinked rapidly as awareness of his own body slammed back into him. He was bleeding in a few places, his robes were shredded and singed. Downing a healing potion, he began to summon his words back. He needed them.

After attending to a few wounded, he made his way to the Inquisitor, where she stood talking to Cullen. Dorian could feel Bull’s eye on him, but he didn’t trust himself to look. Not yet. Maybe not ever again.

“Commander!” Vira stuck her hands on her hips. “Honestly. What am I going to do with you?” She shook her head.

“I thought we’d rather established that already,” Dorian said, walking up to them. “Have you seen Hawke?” Dorian fell easily into his old patterns, the ones that had served him for a lifetime: banter, flirt, charm. Anything to shore himself against the emptiness that threatened even now.

“He’s checking on Varric, no doubt. Why?” Cullen asked.

“Oh, no reason. Definitely nothing to do with that bewitching tattoo or his fantastic hair.” Dorian strolled away.

Vira laughed. “I’m glad to see some things never change.”

Somehow, time continued to pass. There was a huge celebration in the Inquisition encampment. Dorian cleaned himself up and made his way to the bonfires. The charming, flirtatious shell continued to operate his arms and legs and put words in his mouth, lots of words. He did not touch the emptiness that lurked in his chest, a vacuum of nothingness caused by shock.

And so it was that he found Hawke, sitting by the fire at the outermost edge of the celebration, drinking a tankard of ale. With a grin, Dorian settled in beside him.

“So, the Fade, eh?” Dorian said. “That must’ve been _terribly_ dreary.”

“Awful,” Hawke said with a smile. “Certainly could’ve used you there to cheery it up.”

“I’m afraid my sparkling presence was required elsewhere,” Dorian said in mock sadness. “I imagine Solas was practically giddy, though.”

“By the Maker, I thought he planned to build a summer home there,” Hawke said. He took a drink.  “I hope I’m not keeping you from a certain horned giant.”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Dorian said, with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

Varric limped up to them.

“Varric! How are you? Sass still intact, I hope?” Dorian said.

“Oh, Sparkler, it’d take a lot more than a swipe from a demon to knock the sass out of me.” He sat down carefully. “Few more days of elfroot salve and I’ll be right as rain.”

“Oh good. I don’t know what I’d do without you, honestly. I’d have to get my sass quota filled by Sera.” Dorian looked down into his tankard to take a drink. He was bathed in shadow as someone huge stepped between him and the bonfire. Someone that smelled of leather and pine.

Dorian didn’t look up; he didn’t need to. Something in him snapped. Where before there was emptiness, now anger filled him. He felt it in the tips of his fingers, the back of his throat, the pit of his stomach.

After a few seconds, he heard Bull’s voice rumble in command. “Kadan. Look at me.”

Hawke’s head whipped to the side when he heard that form of address. _“Kadan?_ I didn’t know....” He frowned in concern at Dorian, then looked up at Bull.

Dorian still hadn’t looked up; his jaw was clenched tight as he stared into his drink, refusing to even acknowledge Bull’s presence. After a few more seconds, Bull spoke again. “Hawke, if I might have a word?”

The shadow moved off, as did the Champion. They had a murmured conversation a few feet away.

“Sparkler, what in Maker’s balls are you playing at?” Varric hissed.

Dorian glared at him. “That’ll be quite enough, Varric.”

The dwarf rose painfully, shaking his head. “Every time I think I have you figured out, Dorian, you throw me for a loop. Have it your way.”

A moment later, Dorian felt himself being hauled up by his armor. He had expected as much. Fury exploded through him. Bull hoisted him over one shoulder but then stood immobile as Dorian cast a force barrier around his legs.

“Hawke?” Bull said calmly. Dorian felt his magic being drained away as the Champion of Kirkwall cast dispel.

Dorian glared at Hawke, betrayal written across his face.

Bull carried the mage away from the encampment into the desert. Dorian fought him every inch of the way, squirming and kicking and at one point biting to try to get out of Bull’s grip, even as a part of him desperately wanted to melt into his arms. He hurled a constant stream of expletives in Tevene and Common. Bull might as well have been deaf for all the good it did.

Once they were a few hundred feet away from the tents, Bull heaved Dorian on the sand, none too gently. The mage scrambled to his feet; rage leaching from every pore. His hands were full of lightning, indeed, he seemed to be coated in it, liquid sparks flowing across his clothes and hair.

Bull looked at him. As if _Bull_ knew every thought, every feeling going through Dorian’s head. As if it had been _Bull_ who felt the blackness almost overwhelm him. As if _Bull_ had been the one left behind, drowning in this sea of words and demons and emptiness. _No._

Dorian launched himself at the Qunari. He did not temper his power, not this time. The force of his leap and the electrical current were enough to knock Bull off his feet, sending him flying through the air. They tumbled together through the sand. The lightning was replaced by fire, as Dorian clawed at the huge body, dragging his burning fingers across Bull’s skin, hearing the Qunari give a muffled yell. And then Bull was on top of him, a true submission hold; pain laced through Dorian’s shoulder as he fought it.

“Kadan!” Bull barked. “Stop!”

Panting, Dorian stopped fighting, realizing he was about to dislocate his own shoulder. Bull held him there, motionless, waiting.

“You died,” Dorian spat out finally. “You _died._ And I... I was still....”

“I know, little one.”

And just like that, the anger was gone. The emptiness, gone, the vacuum filled by the huge body atop him. The hold became an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said finally. “Are you hurt?”

“My pretty little mage. Don’t apologize. And yes. I am.” Bull leaned back.

Dorian quailed when he saw the angry weeping blisters laced across Bull’s chest from where the mage had burned him. Dorian immediately cooled his hand and traced the lines with his palm.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said again.

Bull grabbed his wrist. “Don’t be.” He turned the mage’s hand palm up and kissed the icy skin.

They made their way back to the tents, not speaking, ignoring the raised eyebrows at Bull’s fresh wounds. Once they were in Bull’s tent, Dorian smoothed elfroot salve over the burns, cooling them with his magic. The salve was slow, less effective than a potion, but the skin knotted itself together, the blisters receding.

“Amatus, I haven’t lost control like that in a long time.” Dorian said in a low voice. It wasn’t an apology. It _wasn’t._

Bull accepted the ministrations without comment, inhaling sharply as the combination of healing salve and magic soothed. “Dorian. There’s something you should know. In the Fade, in the demon asshole thing’s lair, there was this kind of... fake graveyard. I think it was supposed to make us feel scared or something. There was a gravestone for each of us: our name, and our worst fear. Including you.”

Dorian exhaled, letting his eyes close.

“Do you know what it said, little one?”

“Maybe. No. I don’t know,” Dorian whispered.

“Temptation.”

Dorian nodded, not opening his eyes. Of course. _Of course._ What else would it say?

“I’m listening, kadan.” Bull said.

“Do you... do you remember our first night?” Dorian whispered.

Bull grinned. “As if I would ever forget?”

Dorian huffed a laugh. “Do you remember what I told you about... about....” He couldn’t bring himself to say the name.

“About the soporati boy?” Bull prompted.

“His name... his name was Calix,” Dorian choked it out. “He was so beautiful.” Tears started in Dorian’s eyes.

Bull said nothing, but ran his fingers up to rest on the back of Dorian’s neck.

“We were sixteen. We were... in love.” Dorian paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “But, it was wrong. They _told_ me, it was _wrong._ I didn’t want to... give in.” There was another long pause as Dorian concentrated on breathing, his gaze fixed on the canvas tent ceiling, though his eyes saw the past. “But I did. I gave in. To temptation. And then....” He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, dashing away the tears with the back of his hand.

“Did Halward....?” Bull asked.

“No. Not even he would do such a thing. But Calix’s father wanted our family’s favor. He thought it....”

“He killed Calix, thinking it would please your father,” Bull said.

Dorian nodded. “I never.... I never... gave in... again,” he finally spat out the words. “Until....”

It was too much. Too many words. He couldn’t.

Bull pulled him close. “And then I died on you. Shit, Dorian, I’m surprised you didn’t blow up the whole camp. I’m kind of offended, actually.”

Through the tears, Dorian started to laugh. He continued to laugh, smelling Bull’s leather-and-pine scent, feeling the heat of his skin, the interplay of muscles rippling through his chest and arms.

“What was yours?” Dorian said finally.

“Madness,” Bull replied easily. “But I knew that. No surprises there.”

There was a few moments of silence while Dorian collected himself. “Out of curiousity, what was Sera’s fear?” the mage asked finally. “Cookies? Making sense? Elfy-ness?”

Bull threw back his head and laughed. “Nothing. As in, literally nothing.”

“Interesting,” Dorian said, pushing himself out of Bull’s embrace. “So, should we return to the party, now that I’ve blubbered like a baby?”

Bull snorted. “You think you’re going to make me wait even longer? After feeling all that gorgeous power unleashed on me, little one?” Bull shook his head. “Besides, I got you a present.”

“Ooh, a present. Is it a nug?” Dorian knew it was not a nug.

“Not quite.” Bull leaned over and flipped up the tent flap.

Hawke ducked his head in. “Am I interrupting? Only I thought perhaps this tent could use more charm and joie de vivre.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “You two did bathe, yes? I’d hate to get any bits of the Fade on me. It might stain.”

“Well if you change your mind, just go give Solas a hug. He’ll probably never bathe again, after today,” Hawke countered.

“I’m sure it soaked into that dreadful tunic,” Dorian nodded. “He’s probably snuggling up to it right now, trying to see if that ‘Fade-smell’ is still in the fabric.”

“Shit, is this how you guys are together?” Bull was laughing. “How did you shut up long enough to actually have sex?”

“I think that’s a challenge, Dorian,” Hawke said.

“I agree, Garrett.” Dorian said.

For the moment, Bull was content to watch. To watch Dorian and Hawke kiss, shy at first and with considerable awkwardness given Bull’s scrutiny, then with growing heat, until Dorian was moaning into Hawke’s mouth. To watch them frantically strip out of their clothes, tripping on trousers and getting caught in sleeves, as they sought to maintain as much contact with each other as possible.

And Bull watched as Hawke knelt, looking up at Dorian before taking him into his mouth. He watched as Dorian hissed, carding his fingers through the mage’s hair. He listened to the words tumble from Dorian in a way that Bull had never before heard. _Fuck Garrett yes that’s so good, take it, oh yes yes that’s so good._ He watched as Dorian took Hawke’s mouth, deep and rough, leaving him gasping but still eager. He watched as Dorian turned to look at Bull, his mouth open, his breath fast, his eyes half-lidded with lust.

And then Bull wasn’t content to just watch. He came around behind Dorian, casually dropping his trousers as he went. Bull kicked the mage’s feet wider while he unstoppered a vial. A moment later a slicked finger was pressing inside him gently, almost a tease.

Dorian took his fingers out of Hawke’s hair and raised his hands over his head. Bull leaned over him so that the mage could grab his horns. Hawke, meanwhile, slowed, now using one hand to swirl and stroke Dorian lazily. Now it was Bull’s turn to talk, to give Dorian the words he craved. “Oh little one, you are so perfect,” he said, pushing further into Dorian with his fingers. “Look at you. Gorgeous. Soon I’ll be inside you and Hawke will be the one taking your beautiful mouth. You want that? You want me inside you while you suck Hawke’s cock, little one?” Bull added another finger.

Dorian moaned and nodded, now beyond words.

“Hands and knees, pretty mage,” Bull commanded. “One finger up if you need to stop.”

Dorian knelt obediently, arranging himself, his eyes almost closed as he waited patiently for Bull.

Bull knelt behind Dorian, once again pushing his fingers into the mage.

Hawke’s raised his eyebrows at Dorian’s shift in demeanor. “Well, this certainly is a very pretty picture. This is the first I’ve seen him not talking or laughing.”

At that, Dorian did laugh, breathlessly, though it shifted quickly into a gasp as Bull added a third finger. And the gasp was quickly stifled by Hawke filling his open mouth.

It was slow. None of them wanted this over quickly. Bull and Hawke moved into Dorian, a steady rhythm, Bull’s words a percussive counterpoint to the low moans of Hawke and Dorian.

No one could quite tell what caused the shift. Perhaps an especially delicious groan from Hawke, a thrust with more force from Bull, a shivering whimper from Dorian. But the slow, gentle motions gave way, and Bull and Hawke began to fuck Dorian with abandon.

Dorian was held completely still by Hawke’s hands on his head and Bull’s grip on his hips. It teetered right on the edge of what he could take, as he choked for breath around Hawke while Bull seemed intent on fucking the air out of his lungs. Rather than fill him with panic, he relaxed further and further into the sensation.

Hawke’s fingers twisted into Dorian’s hair, hard, and Dorian could feel Hawke stiffening in his mouth, just before the peak. With a huge groan, Hawke spilled into him, bucking into Dorian.

Bull slowed slightly as Hawke removed himself from Dorian’s mouth. The Qunari reached down to grab Dorian’s shoulders, pulling him backwards and up while Bull simultaneously sank back on to his knees.

“That’s a neat trick,” Hawke grinned.

“My little one is very dextrous,” Bull said, leaning down to bite Dorian’s shoulder. “Aren’t you?”

Dorian moaned and nodded, shivering as the change in angle caused Bull to brush his prostate. Bull’s hands held Dorian still while he took the mage with shallow thrusts.

“Well I can’t just sit here doing nothing,” Hawke noted. He leaned down to take Dorian into his mouth. He teased, pulsing his tongue just beneath the head, not hard enough to provide release.

Dorian shuddered as the combination of sensations wracked through him. The reduced range of motion kept him hanging on the edge. “Oh please. Please please please,” he begged, shaking his head helplessly.

Bull hummed into his ear. “That’s it, kadan. It feels good, doesn’t it? So good, so perfect. You want to come, don’t you? You want to come for us. You want it, want to fill Hawke’s mouth, want to clench that ass around me. Come for us, kadan. Let me feel it. Let me feel that gorgeous ass when you come.”

Dorian’s groan was almost a scream as Bull’s words seemed to pull the orgasm out of him in waves. He spurted into Hawke’s mouth, feeling Garrett swallow eagerly even as he spasmed around Bull’s cock.

“Oh fuck,” Bull growled, his voice raw. “Hawke, get out of the way, now!”

Hawke tumbled to the side in surprise. Bull pushed Dorian back to the floor, the mage’s forehead resting on his arms, his ass in the air.

Bull slammed into him; the sound of their skin smacking together crackled throughout the tent. Bull grunted with every thrust, his teeth gritted as he pounded into the still-moaning mage. In seconds, Bull emptied himself into Dorian.

A few minutes of nothing but breathing, then tentative stretches, a hasty clean up with a damp cloth, and then the inevitable awkward clothing retrieval. This portion of the proceedings began with blissed-out grins, which became snickering, which grew into full laughter.

“Well,” Hawke said, pulling on his boots. “The question is, will you be able to walk tomorrow?” He smirked at Dorian.

“The question is, whether this escapade will find itself into one of Varric’s books,” Dorian corrected.

“Not if he knows what’s good for him,” Bull rumbled.

Hawke grinned. “No one would believe it. Hell, I don’t believe it, and I was here.” He rose. “If you gentlemen find yourself out Weisshaupt way anytime soon, please look me up.” He shook Bull’s hand and gave Dorian a quick kiss on the lips.

After Hawke had left, Bull bundled Dorian and himself on to the bedrolls. “You okay, kadan?”

The thoughts crowded Dorian’s head. Y _ou’re alive, I haven’t lost you, I never want to lose you again. I want this to be forever. I’m afraid of what that means._ The thoughts were legion; the words, few. “Yes.” Dorian said. “I am.”

 

 


	14. Dragonstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the Inquisition finds out what Dragonstorm actually means.

“Dorian, you haven’t spoken in almost thirty seconds. Aren’t you feeling well?” the Inquisitor laughed. She selected a pastry from the tea tray, avoiding the dire brickleberry tarts.

“Inquisitor, I merely ponder which delectable treat to refuse to eat next. I do have training duties later, thanks to your inimitable charm. These are a might heavy when one is about to hurl himself across the practice ring.” He looked at the tray of treats. “Although these seem relatively harmless,” he said, picking a sweet cake and popping it into his mouth.

“What’s on your mind, Dorian?” Vira said, now serious.

“You... gave Cullen something, yes? A token?”

Lavellan regarded him, a smile playing across her lips. “Yes,” she said. “A stormheart lion.”

Dorian nodded in appreciation. “Very thoughtful, Vira. Did you carve it yourself?”

“I had a little help from Dagna,” she admitted. “I take it you want to give something to Bull?”

“After Adamant...” Dorian faltered.

Vira laid a hand on his arm.

“No doubt you’ll have noticed that, on very rare occasions, my staggering eloquence is insufficient. I merely consider the idea that a gift would serve where my paltry words cannot.” Dorian sniffed.

“Do the Qun even exchange gifts? I thought that would be... I don’t know... grounds for mind-wiping or something,” Vira said.

Dorian sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Still,” Vira said. “Bull’s Tal-Vashoth now. Maybe there’s something. Have you asked Krem?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Fasta vass, why didn’t I think of that?”

Lavellan patted his cheek patronizingly. “That’s why I’m in charge, my dear Dorian.”

Krem was where he always was when the Chargers weren’t on a raid: haunting a corner of the Herald’s Rest. Dorian had established a tenuous truce with the Chargers. It could not be said that they trusted one another, but their devotion to Bull made them wary allies.

“Hello, little Altus,” Krem smirked.

“Lieutenant Aclassi,” Dorian bowed deeply. “Have we satisfied the requirement to snarl at each other? I am in a bit of a hurry.”

“I’m willing to call it even,” Krem said.

“I...” Dorian cleared his throat. “I’d like to... give Bull... a token of... just, a token.” Dorian stammered.

Krem’s smile widened. “Well now,” he said. “This is a surprise.”

“Yes, and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much.” Dorian glowered. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”

Krem shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. Qun’s funny that way. I get the impression there is something though, to do with dragons. That’s all I know.” The warrior cocked his head. “You really serious about it?”

“And what if I am?”

“Chief was right about you. A ‘Vint pledging to a Qunari? You’re the bravest man I’ve ever met.”

Dorian met his gaze. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

Krem grinned. “Thanks, little Altus.”

Something to do with dragons. Dorian was perhaps the most skilled researcher in Thedas, if he did say so himself. Which he did, often; he also said as much to anyone else willing to listen. Surely, the secret would be revealed in some book or other.

And it was: according to an obscure text by Genitivi, on rare occasions Qun would exchange a charm made from one half of the tooth of a dragon. How delightfully barbaric.

This presented slightly more of a challenge than Dorian had anticipated. Not every day one fought a dragon, after all. Still, there were options. Perhaps he could get a clandestine message to that Orlesian nutter Frederic, in the Western Approach? The likelihood of keeping it a secret was slim, though. And somehow Dorian figured the point was not to purchase such an item, but to wrest it from the dragon bodily, spilling as much blood as possible, no doubt.

Before long, however, Dorian found that he was in a surprising position: facing down a greater Mistral dragon in the Emerald Graves.

The party hadn’t intended to go dragon hunting. They were returning from the Hissing Wastes and had detoured into the Graves so that Blackwall could look for more of his blasted Warden trinkets. None of the Inquisition scouts had noted anything unusual in the area.

So it was with some surprise that they happened on the ice dragon. Perhaps the blasted thing was out for a constitutional. Regardless, they found themselves engaged: Blackwall, Lavellan, Cole, Varric, and Dorian.

Dorian understood the mechanics of fighting a dragon, in theory. But theory and practice are two very different things. He was glad for the new fire staff Lavellan had gifted him. Normally he favored lightning, but in this case, the flames were welcome against the dragon’s icy breath.

At first, the fight seemed to be under control. Dorian and Varric harried the creature from a distance, while the others engaged the dragon directly. Cole and Vira dipped in and out of shadow, confusing the beast, while Blackwall provided a stalwart target, distracting attacks away from the more vulnerable members. Blood ran freely from the dragon’s legs and snout.

But then the vast creature beat her wings, creating a vortex. They were all sucked into range. She spun with terrifying speed, whipping her tail. None avoided the attack. Before they could recover, the dragon took to the sky, spraying them with ice.

Dorian recovered first, heating his skin with a thought. He’d lost his staff - it was dozens of yards away. He raced to Lavellan’s side, pouring a healing potion into her mouth. She spluttered and came to. “The others,” she choked. The mage sprinted to Blackwall. He’d taken the brunt of the force from the tail. A gash streamed blood down his forehead and his body was encased in ice. Dorian laid a hand on the warrior’s chest, dispelling the frost. The dragon landed, shaking the earth. He heard Lavellan scream his name.

Without turning, he abandoned the unconscious Blackwall, sprinting to the left, away from the others. Ice followed his footsteps, clipping his heels. He leapt forward, hurling his body in a series of flips to dodge the attack.

Lavellan was at Blackwall’s side now, administering a potion. Cole and Varric were still down, unconscious or dead. Dorian concentrated on maintaining the distraction for as long as possible. Blackwall staggered over to Varric, while Lavellan ran to Cole.

Dorian grabbed his staff and sprayed the dragon with fire. She growled in frustration, snapping at him with her massive teeth. Dorian caught the motion of four figures out of the corner of his eye.

The dragon took off again. Dorian ran to the others. Blackwall was standing, but swaying on his feet. Varric limped heavily. Cole was... well, Cole was Cole.

“I need a distraction,” Lavellan panted. “I can use Mark of the Rift, but it takes a second.”

“You’ll have it, Vira,” Dorian said. “Run. I’ll distract her. Tell Bull.... Well. Just tell him anything.”

“Sparkler, what are you doing?” Varric boggled.

“Run!” Dorian shouted, watching the dragon descend. They scattered, leaving him in the center of the field.

The dragon landed in front of Dorian, staring at the mage. She breathed a blast of cold, but Dorian was too quick; he repelled it with a gout of fire from his staff. The dragon’s eyes narrowed.

“Come on, come on, get on with it,” he muttered.

The dragon beat her wings once more, creating the maelstrom. This time, Dorian did not fight the vortex, but ran into it, the air increasing his momentum. He jumped to catch hold of the spiked hock of the dragon’s foreleg, then leapt again to catch hold of one horn as she turned, using tiny bursts of magic to propel himself through the air.

It took the dragon a moment to realize what was happening. By the time she shook her head, Dorian had gotten hold of her horn and had looped his arms and legs around it tightly. When his body failed to fall, the dragon stopped shaking and began nosing along the ground, looking for the mage. Dorian crawled to the back of the dragon’s head.

And there it was, just like the textbooks said. A small patch of flesh, between the bony forehead ridge and the scales of her neck. “Get ready, Lavellan!” he shouted. Dorian stood. With all his strength, he jammed the staff blade into the flesh.

Predictably, the dragon hardly felt this. How would it? A four inch blade to a dragon would feel about the way a person feels a gnat’s bite. Dorian prayed that Lavellan had heard his call. He didn’t see her, but with her ability to hide in shadow, she could be three feet from him and he wouldn’t know.

“One distraction coming up!” he yelled. Dorian channeled all his magic through the staff, directing Immolate through the blade and into the dragon’s skull.

The dragon shrieked in agony, whipping its head around wildly. With no reserve mana, Dorian was unable to soften his landing and slammed to the ground. His ankle and wrist shattered on impact. The pain was immense. He felt the Inquisitor’s Mark of the Rift ability take root, just as the dragon’s foreleg swept him into a rock outcropping, smashing the back of his head against the stone.

The sensation of someone holding his hand was the first thing he understood as the blackness receded. For a moment, he thought it was Bull; but no, the hand covering his was much smaller and tingled with magic.

“Vira?” he croaked. He realized his head was bandaged; the cloth covered his eyes.

“I’m here, Dorian,” Lavellan said. “We all are. Well, not Blackwall. He went to fetch a stretcher and help from the closest camp. Just lay still.”

Dorian exhaled with relief. They survived.

“You know, Sparkler, there are easier ways to get in my books,” Varric said. “You didn’t have to take down a dragon.”

Dragon. There was something about a dragon, something he needed. He tried to rise. “I need to get something.”

“Oh, no no, Sparkler. You’re not moving.” Varric held him down by one shoulder. Dorian groaned. He’d hoped to be able to harvest one of the teeth without them all noticing. And then there would be talking, and words. So many words.

“I’ll get it,” Cole said. “I like to help.”

“You know, I never get used to seeing him disappear like that,” Varric said.

A week later, they were back in Skyhold. It was the first time that returning to the frigid, desolate fortress felt like home to Dorian. They were greeted at the gates by some of the inner circle - Bull of course, Cullen and Josephine, Cassandra. Bull wrapped Dorian in a hug before he’d even dismounted from his horse, dragging the mage out of his saddle and spinning him around in an effusive display. Cullen also embraced Lavellan, albeit more conservatively. Josephine and Cassandra tried to pretend they weren’t there for any particular reason, merely happened to be in the courtyard at the time, certainly not checking on Blackwall and Varric. This fooled no one.

Bull dragged Dorian into the keep, not even bothering to close the door to his quarters before pulling his robes off, forcing Dorian to nudge the door shut with a burst of energy. Then, much later, Dorian had a bath, a quick trip to the undercroft, a meal, and drinks at the tavern.

When Dorian walked into the Herald’s Rest, some few of Lavellan’s companions gave him a standing ovation. “To what do I owe this perfectly appropriate greeting? Have you finally all realized how dashing I am?” He sat across from Bull.

“A dragonslayer deserves no less,” said Blackwall.

“You fought a dragon?” Bull shouted. He slammed his hand on the table. “Damn. I cannot believe I missed it,” he fumed.

“Oh, it gets better,” Varric said. “You’ll love this, Bull.” The dwarf launched into a melodramatic retelling of the battle.

“And then, with his injured companions scattered, Dorian leapt on to the beast’s horns. She shook her head, but the hero held fast. Regaining his footing, he stabbed the creature with his staff at the base of the scaly neck. A blast of flame, pulled from the very heavens, channeled through his weapon and exploded into the dragon’s skull, giving the Inquisitor the time she needed. Ripping open the veil, her anchor flashed as the rift energy consumed the beast. Our hero, alas, was thrown. Crippled by the fall, we could do no more but watch as his limp body hurtled through the air by the dragon’s dying convulsions. Dorian’s last thoughts before hitting the stone were of his companions, now safe, and of the one he’d left behind, the one who would surely not weep, but would carry the pain of loss in his heart... forever.”

There was a hush. Cullen’s eyes were closed in a grimace, Sera’s lip quivered, and Josephine was dabbing at tears. Even Cassandra’s eyes looked wet.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Hello, right here, perfectly fine.” He waved his hand. “And I’ll thank you not to put thoughts in my head, dwarf.”

The table exploded with laughter. Bull was staring at Dorian, breathing hard. Dorian knew that look. He’d been dreaming about it for a month. He began a mental countdown. _Three minutes at most._

“Varric, did you make that up? That’s not how you fight a dragon,” Cassandra objected. “What, leaping to its head and stabbing? You might as well have tried shouting at it.”

“I beg your pardon, it worked quite well, I’ll have you know.” Dorian said. “The Pentaghasts don’t have a monopoly on dragon hunters. There’s a reason we call our technique ‘Dragonstorm’, after all.”

“Is that really where the name comes from?” Cullen asked. “I had no idea.”

“Of course,” Dorian said, taking a drink. “What do you think all that leaping about was for? Just to make me look good?”

“It works, pretty little mage,” Bull’s eye glinted - _two and a half minutes_ \- and his nostrils flared. _Make that two minutes._

Dorian hurriedly downed the rest of his tankard. He sighed in frustration as another was set in front of him. Well. He was never one to turn down a free drink. The table rang with laughter, jokes, good-natured insults and pats on the back. Hard to believe that just months ago, Dorian had despaired of ever seeing a friendly face in the keep.

“So, there’s a dragon on the loose in Crestwood,” Cullen said. “Shall we send Dorian alone to save Inquisition resources?”

“Oh no,” Bull said. “No way I’d miss that.” He grunted appreciatively. _One minute._ “My pretty little mage, fighting a dragon?” _Thirty seconds._ Bull slowly rose from the table. _Ten, nine, eight..._

Dorian looked down into his mostly full mug. He took a long drink, begin careful to set the tankard down far away from the edge of the table. Dorian backed his stool out slightly in preparation. “Well, my friends, as always, you do me too much honor. I have a feeling my night is coming to an end, however.”

“Damn right,” Bull said from behind him, hauling the mage up by the collar of his robes. Dorian gave a resigned sigh and rolled his eyes. The table burst into laughter and applause as Bull hoisted Dorian, not over one shoulder like a sack of grain, but cradling the mage behind the knees and back. “C’mon, little one.”

Dorian shook his head affectionately and threw one arm around Bull’s neck, waving gallantly at his friends as he was carried off.

The next morning, Dorian awoke nestled in the crook of Bull’s arm. Maker, he’d missed this. Predictably, Bull was awake.

“Hello, little one. I’m surprised you’re awake. You tossed and turned for hours.” Bull said.

“Yes, about that...” Dorian’s heart was beating like mad. “I... would you... would you do something for me, Bull?”

Bull’s lips curled into a slow smile. “Ooh, requests. That’s new.”

“No, not like that. I... I just need you to stay here until I get back. It won’t be long. Can you do that for me?”

Bull’s eye narrowed suspiciously. “You’ve never asked me for anything, not even once, and when you finally do, your big request is... for me to sleep in?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Vishante kaffas. You are _impossible.”_

“I’ll be right here, little one.” Bull grinned.

Dorian yanked his clothes on and made his way to the undercroft, praying he wouldn’t have to wait. He already felt like he’d swallowed a nest of snakes. Dagna was there, chipper as ever, and handed him a wrapped package with a smile. “Don’t forget! I get to run experiments on you later!”

Dorian attempted a smile, though it might have resembled a grimace. _What have I gotten myself into?_

Bull was still laying on the bed when Dorian returned. “That was quick.”

“Yes, I only had to fetch something.” The mage sat on the edge of the bed. He took a deep breath. “You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met,” he began, looking down at his lap, “and....” He looked up at Bull. And... _nothing_. He slumped, defeated. “Since you seem to have the ability to render me dumb as a post, here.” Dorian shoved the bundle into Bull’s hands.

Bull was laughing quietly. “Aw, did you get me a present? Is it a nug?” He unwrapped the parcel. The smile slid off his face. He stared down at the pair of dragon tooth necklaces, frowning.

Dorian felt the room suddenly get much smaller. Indeed, his whole world seemed to shrink in the face of this particular silence. He leapt off the bed and turned to look out the window, glad of the mountain air cooling his burning face. Where before, he had no words, now they crowded round him, choking to get out as his old defense mechanism sprang to life. “Clearly, I’ve made an error of judgement. I apologize. It was foolish of me to think that my affection was returned in the same way. Silly romantic notions, I know. Totally inappropriate. I should have known better. Well. I won’t trouble you further.” He turned quickly, intending a hasty exit.

He ran smack into Bull. Somehow the huge brute had gotten out of bed without making a sound. The Qunari had one charm around his neck and was holding another aloft, waiting to put it over Dorian’s head. Which he did.

With a kiss on the top of Dorian’s head, Bull spoke. “Where did you find out about this, kadan?”

“A book,” Dorian mumbled. “And Krem helped.”

Bull laughed out loud at that. “You asked Krem? You’re braver than I thought.”

Dorian chuckled woodenly, trying to get his heart to start beating again.

“Did this book say why Qunari exchange these gifts?”

“As a token of... esteem,” Dorian found he could handle saying that.

“True. But there’s more. The tooth is split so that, no matter where you are, you have a connection to the other half. They’re usually given when someone is saying farewell. That’s why I didn’t say anything. I thought you were leaving me, little one.”

Dorian felt his stomach clench slightly. “Of course not,” he said. “Leave before I get to see you rip Corypheus’ head clean off his body? I would never.”

Bull looked at Dorian closely. “Did you have to deal with that weird dwarf chick in the smithy? What did you promise her in exchange for making these?”

“I don’t want to even think about it. They’re enchanted, you know. Yours grants partial immunity against lightning, and mine grants partial immunity against physical attacks.” Dorian explained.

The grin on Bull’s face was like the sun coming up, only dirtier, somehow. “Show me,” he growled.

Dorian laid his hand on Bull’s chest and sent a significant electrical charge through the skin. It would normally have rendered Bull unconscious.

Bull’s significant bulk was repulsed backwards a few inches. He took a deep breath and roared. _“Fuck,_ Dorian. That was amazing.”

“I thought you might appreciate it,” the mage smirked.

“So good, my pretty little... dragonslayer,” Bull said with an indulgent grin. “Mmm, I like the sound of that.” He grabbed Dorian by the hips and backed him toward the bed. “My gorgeous, perfect mage, staring down a dragon. Fuck, Dorian. You are incredible.” Bull shoved him down on the bed, growling. “Should we test your necklace next, Kadan?” He retrieved a leather belt and gave it a sharp snap across his palm.

“I thought you’d never ask, Amatus.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended this to be the final chapter, but turns out I had more to say. Might be a few days until the next update as I finish up the new ending. Thanks to everyone for reading and for your lovely comments! They keep me going. Gold star for the first person to catch the Skyrim reference. ;)


	15. The Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen requests a little hands-on experience in advanced techniques.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the disappearing/reappearing chapter! I pulled this chapter a while back to fix some problematic consent issues, then promptly forgot all about it. Thanks to Tumblr user Vohalika for noticing it was missing. Also, if you're interested, the night that they talk about in the beginning is [Chapter 25 of Dread Wolf's Legacy.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3702131/chapters/8797030)

“Now, this is a surprise,” Dorian smiled. “A Qunari in the library. Will wonders never cease?”

Bull loomed in the alcove, his enormous bulk seeming all the larger when crammed between the shelves. “Look at you, sitting pretty,” he grinned. “You could probably use a breath of fresh air. Walk with me.”

Intrigued, Dorian set down his book. It was early evening, time to think about stopping for the day anyway. He followed Bull out on the battlements. “Something the matter?” Bull almost never came looking for him while he was working.

Bull chuckled, a low, growling sound. “No. An opportunity has come up. I wanted to tell you about it.” He found an out-of-the-way spot, overlooking the courtyard.

“And... you needed to come here to tell me?” Dorian looked around in confusion.

“Less temptation,” was Bull’s enigmatic response. He stood a few feet away from Dorian, gazing out over the keep. “You know the other night? With Vira and Cullen?”

Dorian snorted. “Not likely to forget that anytime soon.”

Bull laughed. “Yeah. I know what you mean. _Damn.”_ He took a deep, satisfied breath. “Anyway. Just talked to Cullen. Turns out our Commander wants some lessons. In spanking. And knots.”

Dorian blinked. He was pretty sure he heard the words correctly, yet they could not possibly mean what they meant. “What?”

Bull shrugged. “Guess he wants to surprise Vira, but he doesn’t want to hurt her. I told him he needs to get some practice in. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who’d want to volunteer, would you?” He looked at Dorian, his face and voice neutral. “Before you answer, you need to know three things: he’s probably going to want to fuck you, I might want to fuck him, and I’m perfectly okay with whatever you decide: some, all, none.”

Dorian inhaled sharply. The concept of having another encounter involving Cullen interested him very, very much. He’d readily agreed to participate in Vira’s little “present” for Cullen - fulfilling the Commander’s fantasy of watching her ride the Bull, so to speak. Bull, having a penchant for tormenting Dorian in exactly the way the mage liked most, had suggested that Dorian be blindfolded and bound, unable to participate, only able to listen. Which was fine with him - he had little desire to involve himself with the Inquisitor, for obvious reasons.

But then Cullen had shocked them all, teasing Dorian relentlessly by whispering a narration of the events. And then the teases went beyond words, to things involving mouths and hands. All in all, a delightful surprise. Though, given Cullen's previously-demonstrated skill at teasing Dorian to within an inch of his life, perhaps it should not have come as a shock.

Dorian realized Bull was still looking at him passively, waiting for a response. “I’m trying to figure out how to express my interest without sounding too eager,” he said at last. “I don’t want you to think I’m unsatisfied in any way.”

Bull laughed. “Not a problem. Alright, I’ll let him know.”

“Bull, I have to ask, why did you drag me all the way out here to have this discussion?” Dorian looked around in confusion.

“Couple reasons. Didn’t want to be overheard, for one. Two, you know I can’t resist getting you outta those shiny robes when we’re in private. And I need to be sure you really want this, instead of being swept up in the moment. Last time got a little outta control for my taste. No harm done, but best to be upfront about these things.” Bull said.

“Oh,” Dorian blinked. “Er, you weren’t upset that I....” He left it dangling, not sure how to say ‘had an orgasm in Cullen's hand while he kissed me’ in a way that sounded anything but filthy. It hadn’t occurred to him that Bull might not have wanted to see that.

“Oh, shit no. _Fuck,_ that was hot,” Bull said, sighing with satisfaction. “No, I mean, Cullen didn’t know the rules. He wasn’t supposed to do anything but watch. I was worried for you, little one.”

“Worried... _for_ me?” Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Bull, I am a grown man, you know.”

Bull shook his horns. “I know. But I also know how you get, kadan.”

Dorian had to admit the Qunari had a point. He had not experienced that strange shift in consciousness with Vira and Cullen. But if it had, it would’ve made it difficult to voice any protests if something had happened that he didn’t enjoy. Suddenly he had a newfound understanding of the level of control that Bull maintained when Dorian was in that state. Aside from that one time, Dorian had never said katoh. He hadn’t needed to. He hadn’t wanted to. Bull skated him along the edge with skill and precision.

“I... I never thought about it,” Dorian admitted, looking up at Bull. “Well. In any event, yes, I’m interested. And I take it you think I’ll get in that state during this little educational endeavor?”

“Oh, I certainly hope so,” Bull breathed. “Fuck, it’s pretty much my favorite thing, when you lose all those pretty words. When you can’t speak for wanting it so bad, for wanting me.” The Qunari took a step towards him, crowding his space.

Dorian's breath caught in his throat. “Yes?”

“Mmm, it’s so good,” Bull said, pushing his knee between Dorian's thighs, pressing the mage against the rough stone. “Maybe I should take you back to my bed right now, show you just how much I appreciate it. Would you like that, little one?”

Dorian gulped and nodded, unable to look away from the lust on Bull’s face.

“Good. Want to have you begging for it when Cullen arrives later,” Bull grinned.

***

It was later. Bull  made good on his promise, seemingly intent on teasing Dorian to death.The Qunari’s hands and lips were everywhere but where Dorian needed them. He squirmed, naked under Bull’s grip, panting.

“Please, Bull, please,” he said as Bull’s fingers once again traced up his inner thigh, ignoring his erection.

“Mmm, so gorgeous, little one. Are you ready for Cullen? He’ll be here any -”

There was a knock on the door, rendering Bull a prophet. The Qunari grinned wide and wicked. Laughing, he went to the door and opened it. Dorian heard the click of booted footsteps crossing the threshold, then Bull’s voice, casually greeting their guest. “Hey, Cullen.”

It was difficult to control the trembling that wracked through Dorian as Commander Cullen’s face came into view.

“Dorian,” the Commander said with a smirk, his eyes roving hungrily over Dorian's body.

“Cullen,” Dorian choked, trying to sound nonchalant and failing spectacularly.

Bull chuckled at the exchange. “You think you can show Cullen how good you are for me, little one?”

Dorian writhed with anticipation, biting back a moan. “Yes, please,” he said politely.

“That’s my pretty little mage. On your stomach.” Bull said.

Dorian flipped over and put his hands over his head. “Good, little one.” Dorian felt Bull demonstrate a simple binding, wrapping his wrists. He then had Cullen re-create the knots. “You don’t want them too tight for the first time,” Bull said. “A bit of slack is good.”

Dorian tugged at the silk. It gave several inches.

“Put your pretty face to the side so Cullen can see you,” Bull said. “That’s good.”

Dorian listened as Bull guided Cullen through the process. “We’ll start with an easy one: Vira’s got a sweet spot along her spine. Drives her absolutely insane. I’d recommend a feather. Here, let me show you.”

Bull shifted off the bed and rummaged around in a chest. A moment later, Dorian shivered as a tickling sensation traced his spine. He couldn't help but try to twist away; eventually Bull held him still by pressing two fingers into his ass while Cullen dragged the feather over his back.

After a few moments the teasing ceased and the lesson continued. “Now, Vira likes it rough, as you saw the other night. A few quick smacks is fine as seasoning, but if it’s the main course, you gotta build up to it. Start with just touch, to get the skin ready.” Bull’s tone of voice was conversational, as if it was every day that he gave out lessons in spanking.

Dorian felt fingertips tracing tentative strokes across his back. He shuddered; the Commander’s hands were much smaller than Bull’s and lacked the confidence of long practice. Knowing that the somewhat uptight ex-Templar was pushing his boundaries sent a spike of pleasure through Dorian. The touch became surer, firmer, the hands running down his lower back, across the swell of his ass and down his thighs.

“Good. Work up to it. Somewhere between a stroke and a slap.” Bull said.

Dorian felt the hand come to rest on his lower back.

“I... I’m not sure I understand,” Cullen said, his voice very quiet.

There was a heavy silence in the room. Dorian wished he could see what was going on; he could feel Cullen’s hand trembling.

“You want me to demonstrate, Commander? On _you?”_ Bull said, his voice very low. Dorian recognized that tone. A wave of lust coursed through him.

“I... yes,” Cullen said, his voice breaking slightly. There was another moment of stillness. “Please.” This time it was a whisper.

Dorian gasped, his hips bucking into the bed slightly to hear the need in Cullen’s voice.

“Clothes off. Face the wall, there, where Dorian can see.”

Dorian felt Cullen rise, then saw him walk to the wall, dropping clothes as he went.

Bull knelt beside the bed and looked at Dorian. “You want to watch, little one?”

Dorian nodded quickly. “Yes, please yes, I want to see,” Dorian pleaded in a breathy whisper.

Bull grinned. “You’re being so good for me, kadan. And you’re gonna do more than watch. I’ll make it good for you, pretty mage.” He undid the bindings on Dorian’s wrists. “Stay on the bed. You can sit up, but don’t touch yourself.”

By now Cullen was naked. Dorian could see him shivering. Bull placed Cullen’s hands and forearms on the wall. “You’ll need a watchword. Dorian’s is ‘katoh’, so you’ll need something different. We’ll go with ‘phylactery’ for you.”

Bull stood to one side of the Commander, to allow Dorian a full view. His huge hands ran up and down Cullen’s back and ass in a rough caress. Dorian could see the pale skin beginning to take on a hint of pink.

Then Bull’s hands began to stroke, first up, then down, almost as if he was petting an animal. Dorian could hear as the strokes began to fall with greater force, tiny slapping sounds as skin met skin. Cullen exhaled, letting his eyes fall shut and resting his forehead against the wall.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Bull said.

“Yes,” Cullen sighed.

Now Bull’s strokes were shorter, faster, the sounds louder as he increased the intensity. Still, it was not quite a spank. Cullen’s breath was faster now, anticipating what was to come. Then Bull stopped completely, pulling his hand away. Cullen’s eyes fluttered open. “What -”

Smack! Bull’s first blow landed. The Commander’s question dissolved into a moan. Dorian’s own sounds echoed as he watched Cullen’s pale skin redden under Bull’s hand. Soon Cullen was biting his lip and grimacing, his eyes squeezed shut.

“That’s good, Cullen,” Bull said. “Fuck, you should see how pretty this ass looks right now, all pink. You’re going to have ten more. You think you can do that, Cullen? You have ten more for me?”

Cullen groaned but nodded. His skin was very red now. Dorian hoped he didn’t have to mount a horse tomorrow. Or sit for long.

Bull smacked Cullen, hard. Cullen squealed. “It hurts,” he gasped.

“I know it does.” Bull’s next blow came on the other cheek. “And now you have eight more.”

“Maker, I can’t, I can’t,” Cullen pleaded as the next blow landed. His hips, Dorian noted, were bucking, his body moving in direct contrast to his words.

Bull noticed too. “Open your mouth,” he ordered. When Cullen complied, Bull stuck three fingers in the ex-Templar’s mouth. “That’s it,” he said. “Nice and wet.” He removed his fingers and reached down to grasp Cullen’s straining cock, running the man’s leaking fluid and saliva over the shaft.

“Seven now.” Bull said. He smacked again. "Six."

Cullen cried out in pain, but rutted into Bull’s hand. Dorian was sure he would say the watchword. Tears had seeped out of the corners of the Commander’s eyes.

“Five more, Cullen. Five more and you’re done. You’re doing so well. You’ve got five more, don’t you?” Bull’s free hand ran lightly over Cullen’s shoulders and upper back, even as he continued to stroke the man’s cock. “Breathe, Cullen.”

Cullen gasped. “Yes,” he whimpered.

Bull did not make him wait. He laced the remaining blows quickly, not giving Cullen a chance to recover in between. With the last, Cullen spilled his release and then collapsed, his knees giving way. Bull caught him, clearly expecting it, and eased him on to the bed, face down.

“Pretty mage, help the poor man, won’t you?” Bull said.

Dorian paused. With Bull, he could use magic whenever he wanted; not only did the Qunari trust him, he got off on it. Cullen, though, was an ex-Templar. Not a wise course of action to spring magic on him, especially not in his vulnerable state. Dorian ran his hands over the Commander’s upper back. “Cullen,” Dorian said. “I can use magic. Just to cool my hands. It’ll feel very good, and I won’t harm you. Do you want that?”

There was a pause as Cullen tensed slightly. However, he nodded. Dorian felt an odd pang in his chest at the display of trust. He focused cooling magic into his hands, adding just a hint of healing to the mix, then traced Cullen’s ass lightly. Even through his icy palms, Dorian could feel how hot the skin was.

Cullen moaned gratefully into the pillow.

Dorian continued to massage Cullen. The man’s body was absolutely made to be touched, the way the muscles rippled under his skin. Dorian realized his caresses had continued rather past what Bull had specified. He glanced up at the Qunari, who was watching him with an amused smile on his face. “Go ahead, little one. Get your fill. Now you get to see how I feel when I touch you, pretty mage.”

Running his hands up Cullen’s neck, Dorian carded his fingers through the hair, pulling it sharply, then letting go as the man gasped. Leaning down, Dorian kissed along the Commander’s neck and shoulders, then nibbled down his spine to the lower back. By now Cullen was moaning again.

Dorian ran his cool hands over the still-red flesh of the man’s outer hip, following it with his hot tongue. At that, Cullen shouted into the pillow and began grinding on the mattress. Dorian moved his mouth and hands closer and closer to Cullen’s crease, until the man was whimpering continuously.

Bull began to caress Cullen’s muscled legs. “You’re lucky, Cullen. I know a lot about what Vira likes. She’s an amazing woman. You want to make her happy, don’t you?” Bull asked.

Cullen nodded.

“Mmm, that's good,” Bull ran his hands up the back of Cullen’s thighs. “Because I know she wants something, something you can give her. I couldn’t give it to her myself; she’s too tiny, I’d hurt her. But I can give it to you, show you how it feels.” He ran a finger up the crack of Cullen’s ass.

Cullen hissed in surprise, arching backwards against Bull’s finger.

Bull laughed. “You want this, Commander? You want me to take you here? You want me to fuck you?”

There was a brief pause, then Cullen turned his head to the side, though his eyes were still closed. “Maker, yes,” his voice was quiet, but clear.

Dorian groaned. It seemed like an impossibility to contain himself for long enough to see this; he was already painfully hard.

Bull put his hand under Dorian’s chin. “You’re being so good for me, little one. You think you can watch me take him?”

“Yes,” Dorian whimpered.

“So good,” Bull said. He put two fingers up to Dorian’s mouth. The mage sucked them in eagerly, grateful for anything to distract him from the throbbing of his cock.

“Get the oil, little one.”

Dorian retrieved the vial and handed it to Bull. However, the Qunari closed Dorian’s hand around the tiny bottle. “How about you get him ready for me, kadan?”

The mage blinked and swallowed hard. He climbed on to the bed, spreading Cullen’s legs apart to kneel between them. With slightly shaking hands, he dribbled the oil on Cullen. Dorian put one finger against the tight band of muscle, circling it lightly.

The tension started to unspool from Cullen as he felt Dorian’s gentle touch. His shoulders relaxed and his breath became deeper, more steady. Dorian watched Cullen’s face as he slowly eased his finger in.

There was the briefest flicker of discomfort, then Cullen’s face relaxed. Dorian was making tiny, gentle thrusts, just getting Cullen used to the sensation. Then he pushed in further, up to the second knuckle.

Cullen’s breath grew quicker, but his body stayed relaxed. Dorian slowly withdrew, then added a second finger. This time, Cullen struggled. Dorian felt his body tense around the intrusion.

“Breathe, Cullen. Relax,” Bull instructed.

Cullen forced himself to inhale and exhale. With every out breath, Dorian eased in further, barely daring to breathe himself. After a few moments, Cullen was arching back against Dorian’s thrusts. After drizzling more oil on to the now sweating Commander, Dorian added a third finger.

Cullen again tensed up, muttering curses. However, he did not say the watchword, so Dorian continued, carefully. He twisted his fingers slightly to brush against Cullen’s prostate. The Commander’s eyes flew open and he moaned in surprise. “What - Maker - I - yes, yes,” he said, now bucking backwards in earnest.

It took every ounce of willpower Dorian had to not just fuck the daylights out of the man writhing under his fingers. He bit his lip and looked at Bull.

“Now you know how I feel, little one. Every. Damn. Time.” Bull grinned. “That’s enough. He’s more than ready for me, aren’t you, Cullen?”

“Yes, please, oh Maker please.” Cullen moaned, continuing to grind into the mattress.

Bull pulled Cullen to his hands and knees, then guided himself into Cullen carefully. Dorian knew very well there was a difference between fingers and the Qunari’s cock. It was enthralling to watch Cullen come to the same conclusion. He came around to the front of the bed to watch the man’s face.

“That’s it, Cullen. Relax and breathe. You can take it. That's it. Good boy.” Bull said.

Cullen was panting too hard to laugh properly, straining and sweating as he allowed Bull to seat himself. He managed to huff a weak chuckle.

“Mmm, very good, Cullen. How about you wrap those pretty lips around my little one’s cock? He’s been dying for it all night.”

Cullen opened his eyes and looked up at Dorian. His pupils were huge; almost none of the amber could be seen.

“Cullen,” Dorian smiled, as he put a hand up to his stubbled cheek.

This time Cullen did chuckle. “Dorian,” he replied, looking up at the mage with laughter in his eyes. He opened his mouth expectantly.

Dorian sighed as Cullen sucked him in. He wove his fingers into the thick blond hair, thrusting gently, trying not to laugh as he realized how long he’d wanted to do exactly that. Since he’d arrived from Redcliffe, really.

“Fuck, that's hot,” Bull said. The Qunari began to move in and out, very gently.

Cullen moaned around Dorian’s cock. Dorian recognized that sound; it was the moan he’d made when caught between Bull and Hawke. The memory of being taken so thoroughly melded with the sensation of Cullen’s lips wrapped around him. Dorian hissed, trying to hold himself back.

“Oh no, pretty little mage. You come for me. I wanna see you fill that mouth. I want to see your face when you come undone.” Bull’s voice was ragged. Dorian realized Bull was closer to the edge than he thought. The lust etched on Bull’s face tipped him over his own threshold and he spurted into Cullen’s mouth.

Bull’s thrusts got faster, harder. He used both hands to hold Cullen’s hips steady as he grunted his release into the former Templar, who was still swallowing around Dorian.

Cullen managed to stay on hands and knees as they pulled away from him. Bull gently cleaned him off with a damp cloth, being mindful of the still-tender skin.

“Aaaaand, that's the end of the lesson,” Bull said.

Cullen’s head snapped up. “What?”

“That’s more than enough for Vira.” Bull said calmly.

Cullen was blinking rapidly. “But...” Dorian smirked as he saw Cullen’s eyes dart to his still rock-hard cock.

“You’re free to practice on my little one, if you like,” Bull said. “Isn’t he, kadan?”

Dorian’s grin widened. “I think that can be arranged,” he agreed.

There was a momentary pause as Cullen’s blood-deprived brain struggled to take in what was being offered. He sat up, now grinning. “Good. I don’t fancy walking back to my quarters in this state.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I know the feeling.” He closed the distance between himself and the Commander, staring at those delicious lips. Dorian’s eyes flicked over Cullen’s shoulder to look at Bull, who nodded.

With a sigh, Dorian pulled Cullen’s face to his, capturing a kiss. Oh, Maker, it was even better than the other night, with his own taste on Cullen’s tongue, the man sighing and moaning into his mouth, the clack of their teeth as they strove to possess each other. It wasn’t long until Dorian found his cock twitching, his body responding to the kiss as if starved for it.

Eventually, Cullen pushed Dorian back to lay on the bed. Dorian twisted around to lay on his stomach. Cullen smoothed his hand up and down Dorian’s back, this time much more confident. He repeated the same procedure Bull had tormented him with, albeit with less force. Still, by the time the first spank landed on Dorian’s ass, the mage was whimpering and rutting into the mattress. Cullen laced his ass with blows. Not every smack was as sure as Bull’s, but he did quite well, finding the delicate balance which made Dorian’s skin spark with heat and then melt into pleasure.

And then he felt Cullen’s fingers probing him gently. Dorian gasped. Either Cullen was an amazing student, or Dorian was an exceptional teacher. Regardless, it felt fantastic. Soon Dorian was bucking back on Cullen’s hand, eager for more.

Cullen did not disappoint. Dorian felt the man slide into him with a long, shuddering gasp.

"Ohhhh,” Dorian sighed. With Bull, there was always a moment of discomfort as his body stretched to accommodate the man’s significant girth. Cullen was not small by any means, yet his cock seemed like it was made specifically for Dorian. Cullen immediately began long, smooth thrusts, groaning as he bottomed out.

"Fuck," Bull grunted. "Look at you, little one. Look at how well you fit together. Damn. Does it feel good, pretty mage? Cullen's cock in that gorgeous ass of yours? Tell me. Let me hear you."

"Yes, Bull, yes, it's good, so good." Dorian groaned.

“I gotta see this. Cullen, do me a favor, would you? Lean back, on your knees,” Bull instructed.

Cullen obliged. Bull lifted Dorian’s chin off the bed. "Little one. I wanna see you fuck yourself on Cullen's cock. Can you do that for me?"

It was Cullen's turn to groan, as Dorian obediently lowered himself on to his cock, the mage's back to Cullen’s chest, one foot braced on the mattress. Cullen rolled his hips to meet Dorian’s ass as it slid up and down.

Dorian panted, his head rolled back on to Cullen's shoulder. The blond sank his teeth into the mage’s neck, eliciting a squealing whimper.  

“That’s it,” Bull said. “Eyes open, kadan.”

Dorian looked over at Bull. The Qunari was kneeling in front of him, palming his erection. He ran his hands slowly up and down the shaft, brushing the tip with his thumb.

The mage concentrated on his breath, the motion of his body, trying to maintain eye contact with Bull. He thought he was doing well until Cullen’s voice sounded in his ear, that maddening purr that seemed to punch straight through him.

“Mmm, he’s watching you, Dorian, watching me fuck you. He’s thinking about how good it feels to do this to you, and Maker,” Cullen paused to punctuate a thrust with a growl, “does it feel good. He’s watching you fuck yourself on my cock. You like it, don’t you?” Cullen turned his head into Dorian’s ear, brushing his lips against the mage’s jawline.

Dorian moaned and nodded, desperately trying to hold it together.

“Maybe there’s something else he’d like to see. Maybe Bull wants to see you come, Dorian. I think he does. Look at how hard he is. Do you think once I’m done with you, he’ll want a go?”

It was too much. Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, a mantra of pleading whispers spilling from his lips: yesyesyesyes. please. please.

Cullen hummed in Dorian’s ear. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.” Cullen reached around to stroke Dorian, his fingers still slick with oil. “That’s it, Dorian. Let it happen. You feel so good. I want to feel it when you come with me inside you. Open your eyes, that's it. Look at Bull. I know he likes to watch you. Come for him, Dorian. Come for me. Come on, that's it. That's it.”

Dorian felt like he would shake apart as the orgasm wracked through him. His body convulsed silently, unable even to draw breath as he spilled into the Commander’s hand and on himself. He was aware of Cullen’s insistent grunts, the feeling of the man’s hands gripping his hips, pulling Dorian on to his own spurting cock as hard as he could.

Gasping for air, Dorian felt boneless. The only thing keeping him upright was Cullen’s arm across his chest. Weakly, he leaned forward as the aftershocks receded; Cullen released Dorian so that the mage could rest on hands and knees. He crumpled even further, resting his forehead on his upper arms, his ass in the air, wordlessly offering himself to Bull.

There was some shifting on the bed, and then Dorian felt Bull behind him, his hard flesh pushing into him. The mage hissed at the sensation but kept his body relaxed. Dorian wasn’t even sure he’d be able to tense his muscles if he wanted to.

“Oh, little one, this is so good. You are so perfect for me. So beautiful. So gorgeous, taking us both.” Bull’s voice was reverent, washing over Dorian’s exhausted body like a balm.

Dorian could tell Bull was holding back. The thrusts were slow and gentle, no more than he could take. “Pretty mage, pretty mage, you feel so good. Gonna fill this gorgeous ass again. So good. So....” With a strangled growl, Bull bottomed out. Dorian’s over-sensitized body felt every throb as the Qunari came.

After Bull tenderly cleaned him up with a damp cloth, Dorian collapsed on to the bed, curled on his side. He was utterly exhausted. Bull propped himself up on one elbow behind him. He wrapped his arm around the mage, kissing his forehead. “So perfect, kadan. Rest, little one.”

Dorian nodded. He felt the mattress in front of him sink slightly. Opening one eye, he saw Cullen, now dressed, pulling on his boots. The Commander turned to look at him, shaking his head with an incredulous smile.

“If you ever need more lessons, Commander, you know where to find me,” Dorian murmured, waving his hand languidly in the air. “Only happy to oblige.”

Cullen laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind, Dorian.” He paused. A look of uncertainty came over his face. Suddenly he leaned down and kissed the mage on the mouth. Dorian was too surprised to react. Cullen clapped Bull on the arm, straightened his tunic, and strode out.

“Good man, there,” Bull rumbled.

Dorian let his eyes close. “Next time I get to fuck him, though, right?”

“Next time?” Bull laughed.

“We just got a mostly-straight ex-Templar to do all that, and with a mage from Tevinter? There’s only one explanation.” Dorian murmured.

“And what’s that, little one?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dorian said, pulling Bull’s arm over him like a blanket. “I’m irresistable.”

 

 


	16. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the defeat of Corypheus, Dorian faces a hard choice.

It was startling how soon life returned to normal after Corypheus was defeated. Or, Dorian thought as he dodged a swipe from a pride demon, what passed for normal in the Inquisition. It had only been a few weeks, and here they were, closing up the remaining rifts in Ferelden, just like old times. Dorian shot a bolt of spirit energy at the creature and was rewarded with a soul-chilling laugh. Venedhis, he never got used to that sound.

Still, the demon fell to one knee and was soon finished off by Sera and Bull. The Inquisitor waved her hand from across the field, closing the rift.

“Good one, yeah? D’you see the way I jumped down from Bull’s horns, all leapy and arrows?” Sera giggled.

Dorian sighed. “Yes, I saw. You two are a force of nature. A very destructive force of nature.” He shuddered.

“Like you’re not?” Bull grinned. “I saw that energy barrage. Added a little something extra.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “You don’t honestly expect someone as talented as I to cast the same spells over and over, do you?”

“Why not? I shoot the same arrows.” Sera said.

As Dorian tried to decide whether it was worth responding to that, Lavellan trotted up. “I think that’s the last one. Let’s head back to camp. I hate this place.” She frowned at the beautiful lakeshore scenery as if it personally offended her.

Dorian realizedthat they were probably close to the spot in Crestwood where Solas broke her heart. How awful. Well, at least it was no longer crawling with demons. Aloud, he called to the others, “Go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Dorian went around to each of the bodies, looting any materials he could find. Vira no longer needed the sizzling lumps of fire essence, but they brought a good price. He’d almost saved up enough. Just a few more field missions, and then... he couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.

He started back towards the camp. On the way, a glint of something shiny caught his eye, half-buried underneath some scrubby bushes. Dorian hacked his way through the underbrush. The reflection was from a broach, Tevene in style, on the cloak of a dead body. Venatori. It had been there for months. With a sigh, Dorian cleared away the vines overgrowing the corpse to investigate.

She was young when she died; Dorian guessed perhaps seventeen, eighteen. One of the downsides of being a necromancer - every corpse had a story to tell, a story that Dorian could read as easily as any book. The girl had been killed with a blow to the back of the head. At least it had been quick. And at least Dorian knew it hadn’t been any of the Inquisition that did it - they never left bodies behind. Something about the way her body had just been left to rot there tore at him. Dorian sat back, kneeling in the greenery. He heard Bull calling for him. “I’m here,” he yelled back.

Bull made his way over, his huge body somehow not making a sound through the thick vegetation. It always unnerved Dorian how quietly the Qunari could move. Bull bent down on one knee beside him. His huge hand rested on the back of Dorian’s neck.

“She’s hardly more than a child,” Dorian said quietly. “Did she understand what she was doing when she joined the Venatori? Do her parents know where she went, why she left? Do they know she’s dead?”

Bull didn’t say anything, just rubbed small circles into Dorian’s neck with his thumb.

“I don’t suppose you know the Tevinter funeral rites?” Dorian asked at last.

“I do,” Bull said quietly. “In case Krem goes before I do.” He shifted around to the other side of the girl’s body and knelt. He held his hands out over the corpse, palms up.

Dorian did the same, palms down, the backs of their hands touching. They sat motionless for several moments, eyes closed. Dorian eventually began to chant in Tevene, Bull following along. His accent was abominable, but the words were correct. When it was done Dorian opened his eyes.

Flames engulfed the body gently, all at once, as Dorian focused his magic. The body was reduced to ash within a matter of seconds, and even the ashes cooled to the touch almost immediately. Dorian fished the broach out from the debris, wiping the gray dust away with his thumb.

It was a subdued evening at camp, though not without laughter. Sera was there, so it was impossible to be completely morbid. Still, Dorian wandered away from the tents as the sun set, looking out over the rocky fields.The Inquisitor came and sat beside him.

“Hello Vira,” he said. “You know, I never actually asked if you wanted me to call you by your full name. What a terrible friend I am.” Dorian picked up a small rock and hefted it sidearm at a fence post. He missed.

“I don’t mind,” Vira said. “Hard for shems to pronounce, anyway.”

Dorian laughed. _“Shems?_ My my, how insultingly Dalish of you. What is your full name?”

“Vir’athawen. It means ‘tip of the knife’ or ‘way of balance’, depending on who you ask.”

Dorian repeated it a few times, trying to get it right.

“That’s not bad,” Vira said.

“I’m ever so good with my tongue, you know,” Dorian joked automatically, the words at odds with the pensive tone of voice.

“So I’ve heard,” Vira grinned. “Among other things.” It was the elf’s turn to toss a stone at the post. She hit it dead center.

“Ha! Cullen couldn’t keep his mouth shut, eh?”

Vira smirked. “You would know.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Dorian looked over at her in concern. “I didn’t think to check first. I assumed you’d worked it out.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Vira smiled. “The results were _more_ than satisfactory. I’m just sorry I didn’t get to see it for myself.”

They sat for a few minutes, not speaking, continuing to take turns throwing pebbles. Finally, Vira broke the silence. “Bull told me about the body. It’s really bothering you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “It’s your fault, actually. You’ve been such a good role model. You inspire me to... I don’t know... go back to Tevinter, try to make a difference. Fix things. Make it so no other misguided children....” He couldn’t finish the thought.

“I think maybe Cole’s the one rubbing off on you. You want to help.”

That got a laugh from the mage. “Maybe.”

“But you don’t want to leave, do you?” Vira guessed.

“Of course I don’t. How could I?” This time he hit the post, with a satisfying “clunk” as the stone struck wood. “Though it hardly matters. I can’t go back yet.”

“Why not?”

He shook his head. “When I came to Orlais, I had nothing but my staff, my robes, and a few trinkets to sell along the way. They didn’t go as far as I’d expected. Everything costs more during a war, you see. I was forced to sell an amulet that proves I’m of House Pavus. Without it, I’ll have difficulty proving my identity.”

“Ah,” Vira nodded. “And you’re saving up enough to buy it back.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Have you told Bull?” Vira threw her last pebble, then wiped the dirt from her hands.

Dorian’s shoulders sagged, but he said nothing.

Vira put her arm around him. They sat like that until the last rays of the sun dipped behind the hills, the sky a sea of rose colored clouds.

Only a few scant weeks later, Dorian found himself staring at the sovereigns heaped in the wooden box he kept under lock and key. He’d counted it several times. It was enough, plus a cushion to account for any interest the merchant cared to tack on. And as luck would have it, they were headed to Val Royeaux in the morning, to accompany Vivienne back to the Orlesian court.

Though he’d been saving for months, it all seemed so sudden. Dorian was about to count the coins one last time when he heard Bull’s voice behind him.

“Either you’ve lost one hell of a bet to Varric, or you’re planning a big purchase. I’m guessing it’s not the former though, is it?” Bull’s voice was serious.

Dorian snapped the box shut. “Will you never tire of sneaking up on me?”

“These are _my_ quarters, last I checked,” Bull said. Now there was a hint of amusement in the tone. “Despite you bringing in all your junk. If you wanted privacy, you could keep that in your room. I know you still have one.”

It was true. Somehow, Dorian found the concept of giving up his private quarters to be too great of a leap forward in his relationship with Bull, despite not having slept there in months. He sighed in frustration.

Bull put his huge hands on Dorian’s shoulders. “Kadan. Ever since Corypheus, you’ve had the look of a man dying slowly. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but the longer you wait, the harder it’ll be.”

“I know,” Dorian whispered. He turned to look at Bull, his face stricken.

Bull hauled him up, lifting the mage under his arms like a child. He carried Dorian to the bed and arranged himself so that the smaller man was cuddled to his side, half atop the Qunari’s bulk.

“How about I talk for a minute?” Bull’s voice rumbled through his chest into Dorian’s ear. “How about I tell you the story of the bravest man I know, little one? He gave up everything - privilege, wealth, status. He walked away from it all, to be true to who he was. That’s brave right there. But then, he went a step further. He stood up against his whole country, turning himself over to a bunch of people he’d never met, a bunch of people who had every reason to hate him. He stumbled on to our doorstep, two steps ahead of an army, nothing but the staff in his hands and the clothes on his back.

“I saw him, you know. I saw him as Cullen dragged him through the gates. I heard him make some kind of joke to cover the fear in his eyes. I saw how carefully his clothes had been patched and re-patched, almost as good as new. I smelled the cologne, nothing money could buy, something a servant would cobble together from scraps, but still smell as sweet as his master. I saw how he stood tall, taller than he actually was. And I saw he had no family crest. But I figured, maybe it’s packed away. Not the sort of thing you wear when you run all the way from Redcliffe.”

Tears were starting to coalesce in Dorian’s eyes. He took a shuddering breath, knowing Bull could feel his trembling.

“And you know what else I saw? I saw him, months later, at Halamshiral. Looking like the Emperor himself, walking around like owned the fucking place. Everyone else decked out in their medals, their expensive jewelry. Not him. If there were ever a time for a ‘Vint to wear their family crest, that was it. And I realized, _he didn’t have it._ So, maybe he left it home, or maybe he made some grand gesture, set it on fire or something. But this man was too brave for that. Even if he did like being all melodramatic.”

By now, Bull’s chest had accumulated a small puddle of tears. Dorian wiped at it ineffectually with his sleeve, even as he chuckled.

"No, he had the crest with him when he left home. And when things got tough, he probably sold it. Sold the one thing that would let him ever go back again. Cut every single tie he had, just so he could make it to the Inquisition, to warn us about Corypheus. And I felt so proud of my kadan, still surprising me with bravery after all that time.”

There was a pause. Dorian knew he should say something. But he just couldn’t.

Bull’s voice rumbled under his ear once again. “And now my kadan is counting his coins and looking like a man dying. He’s the bravest man I’ve ever known. Everything he’s ever wanted is here. But he wants to go back, try to make things better. He’s going to leave, go where I can’t follow.” The Qunari’s voice broke just slightly.

Dorian felt like he _was_ dying, then. With a groaning gasp, he clung to Bull, squeezing his arms around as much of the massive chest as he could reach. “I don’t _want_ to go,” he whispered. “I don’t want to go.”

Bull’s embrace tightened around him. “I know, kadan. I know you don’t _want_ to.” He sighed. “Dorian. How is it you can get even more brave, little one?” Bull’s voice was thick with emotion.

The sound tore at Dorian. “I’m not as brave as you,” Dorian said. “You gave up the Qun to save the Chargers.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Bull said. “You _are_ braver than me. Yes, I chose the Chargers. I chose all this -” he waved his hand at the room, “-over the Qun. You’re facing the same choice. You’re purposely giving all this up, just to make a difference to Tevinter, a country that couldn’t give two shits about you. I had it easy - if I hadn’t made that choice, I’d have lost my boys. You’ve got it much harder. No one’s got a knife at your throat. You’re doing this because _you care that much._ I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t make that choice. Dorian, I....” Bull exhaled. “I want to tell you....”

Panic filled Dorian’s chest at what Bull seemed about to say. “Katoh!” Dorian yelled. He pushed himself away from Bull to sit on the edge of the bed. Dorian didn’t dare to look back at him. _“Please,_ Bull. Please,” he said in a more normal tone of voice. Dorian found he was shaking. “This is hard enough.”

Bull made no response. Dorian was suddenly ashamed of himself. Whatever Bull had been about to say _(as if he didn’t know),_ who was Dorian to stop him? Just because didn’t want to hear it? Just because it would make things more difficult for him? Vishante kaffas, he’d already inflicted months of emotional upheaval on Bull. Who was he to take the words out of Bull’s mouth?

“I’m sorry, Bull.” Dorian said. “I’m... not quite _that_ brave. Also, apparently I’m incredibly selfish. Don’t know how you’ve managed to put up with me all this time.” A nagging whisper began to leach through his mind, trickling like water over a desert, finding cracks to widen, exposing things long buried: _Go. Just get up and leave, before you make things even worse. Again. You don’t deserve all his words. You don’t deserve him. You’re ruining his life. Just leave. Now._

Dorian began to push himself off the bed. “It’s the moustache,” Bull said suddenly.

“What?” The mage turned in confusion.

“You asked how I put up with you all this time. The moustache. It tickles. I like it,” Bull said calmly. His scarred face was a blank mask, ineffable as always. “And getting access to that gorgeous ass doesn’t hurt, either.” He leaned forward and grabbed Dorian’s shirttail, pulling him back down on the bed. “You’re not selfish with _that,_ last I checked. I could be mistaken, but I think Hawke and Cullen will back me up.”

Dorian allowed Bull to yank him to the bed, allowed himself to tumble atop Bull’s huge chest, allowed Bull to deflect the moment away from the inevitable end back to more familiar territory. Soon enough there was nothing at all to think about, nothing at all to say except: _yes. please. more._


	17. New Horizons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor plays a mean game of chess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and for your comments! I rushed it through so if there are glaring mistakes, let me know! Might be some Adoribull drabbles in the future. I can't get enough of these two, frankly.

On the journey to Val Royeaux, Dorian got the distinct impression that people were talking about him behind his back. It was maddening. Lavellan and Bull rode well behind the others, talking quietly. Leliana and Josephine had their heads together, shooting frequent glances at the Tevinter. Cullen and Cassandra also had several private conversations.

“Is it your birthday soon?” Blackwall said, riding up alongside Dorian.

“No, why?”

“All this,” Blackwall said, waving at the others. “I thought maybe they were planning a birthday party for you.”

Laughing, Dorian shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Glad I’m not the only one who noticed. I was getting a bit paranoid, to be honest.”

“They’ve got something up their sleeves, mark my words.” Blackwall said.

Well, he should know, Dorian thought. Saving Thom Rainier from execution had required quite a bit of surreptitious maneuvering. Blackwall must have been aware of at least some of it. Still, the bizarre sense that something was afoot was not an adequate distraction from what lay ahead.

When they arrived a few days later, the streets of Val Royeaux were as decadent as ever: bright silk banners flapping in the breeze, water in the fountains sparkling like diamonds, marble gleaming on every building. Dorian hardly saw it. Everything looked gray, flat. He found a courier as they made their way to the castle, slipping the boy a note for Monsieur Ponchard quickly, before he had time to change his mind. Bull pretended he didn’t see anything.

The ceremony was interminable. Lots of speeches about how wonderful Vivienne was, how wonderful Empress Celene was, how wonderful Inquisitor Lavellan was. Then there was a banquet at the palace.

Dorian could barely taste the food, though he helped himself to plenty of wine. His long training in the courts of Tevinter allowed him to make small talk without much effort, the platitudes spilling from his lips involuntarily. After the feast came dancing. Would it never end?

He watched as the floor filled with swirling bodies, biding his time until he could leave without giving offense. Bull gave him a wide berth, though every time Dorian looked at him, the Qunari was staring back.

Five more minutes, Dorian said to himself. A servant appeared, carrying a letter on a small silver tray.

Dorian snatched the envelope away, then looked around furtively. For once, Bull’s scrutiny seemed absent. Dorian walked out on to a balcony, ripping open the letter as he went.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “That bastard,” he said aloud. “That fucking _bastard.”_

“Who’s a fucking bastard?” Lavellan’s voice said from behind him.

“Vira!” Dorian leapt around. “You startled me.”

“I did,” she admitted. “I am an assassin, you know. I’m quite good at it.”

“What, startling people, or assassinating them?”

“Yes,” Vira grinned. “What’s going on, Dorian?”

He waved the letter in his hand. “The esteemable Monsieur Ponchard has declined to sell back my amulet.”

“What? Are you joking?” the Inquisitor said.

“What’s going on?” Bull’s bulk momentarily blocked the light from the ballroom as he walked through the doorway.

“That fucking bastard!” Lavellan fumed.

“My sentiments exactly,” Dorian said.

Bull stepped up behind Dorian. The mage quickly crumpled up the letter and set it on fire in the palm of his hand. “Well, that solves that, I suppose. No amulet, no way to return to Tevinter. You’re stuck with me, I suppose,” he said lightly.

“Dorian,” Bull’s voice had a warning in it. “Lying’s not a good look for you.”

“Blast you and your Ben-Hassrath training,” Dorian grumbled. “You shouldn’t read over people’s shoulders. It’s rude.”

“You’d never be able to live with yourself if you tried to get out of making a decision that way,” Bull said.

“What am I missing?” Vira narrowed her eyes.

“Ponchard doesn’t want money. He wants influence.” Bull said. “He’ll sell the amulet for a seat on the Celestine League. He wants you to pull some strings, boss.”

“Oh, does he?” Lavellan’s voice was dangerous.

“No,” Dorian almost shouted. “I refuse to allow it.”

The Inquisitor blinked. “I’m sorry, did you just attempt to tell _me_ what to do?” One eyebrow shot up. Months of leadership had apparently had not been for naught; the diminutive elf suddenly seemed to grow a few inches and the air crackled with tension.

Dorian quailed when he realized what he’d done. Once again, his court training took over. “My sincerest apologies, Inquisitor. I do not presume to suggest your course of action.” He bowed in the Tevinter style, dropping to one knee, lowering his gaze to the floor.

“Oh, get up, Dorian.” Vira said, chuffing him on the shoulder. “I just wanted to see what you would do.”

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Bull smirked. “I never get tired of seeing him on his knees.”

“Well, it’s also nice to _be_ the one on your knees sometimes, too,” Vira grinned. “I’m growing _quite_ fond of it, myself.”

“Can we stop discussing everyone’s proclivities in the bedroom and get back to _me,_ please?” Dorian said, rising.

“I was only half kidding, Dorian. This slimy little merchant thinks he can extort a member of the Inquisition? You don’t seriously think I’m going to let that stand, do you?” Vira said.

“No, I suppose not,” Dorian sighed.

“I knew you’d see it my way,” Lavellan said sweetly. “Now come on. Let’s dance.” She dragged him back into the ballroom by one hand.

The next morning Dorian, Bull, and Lavellan approached Monsieur Ponchard in an alcove off the main square of Val Royeaux. “Ah, Ser Pavus. So glad you received my message. I see we are in agreement, then? Inquisitor, I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.” The masked merchant bowed floridly.

“Are you sure about that?” Lavellan’s smile was bright. It grew even brighter as Bull grabbed the man’s shirt in one fist and lifted him several feet off the ground, pinning him against the wall.

“I believe you have something of mine,” Dorian said, tossing a jingling bag of coins at the man’s feet.

“This is an outrage,” he squeaked. “You can’t do this to me. Guards!”

Still with that same sweet grin, Lavellan tilted her head. “Bull, he is making an _awful_ lot of noise, don’t you think?”

Bull loosened his grip for just a second so that he was no longer holding the man by his shirt, but by his throat.

Ponchard desperately struggled, scratching at Bull’s hand and kicking wildly. “He’s got about 45 seconds, boss.” Bull’s voice was clinical.

“Plenty of time. Monsieur Ponchard, did you _really_ think this would work? Do you think anyone in all of Orlais would come to your aid? Don’t you know who I _am?”_ Lavellan waved at him, the anchor glinting on her palm. “I could wipe you out so completely that no one would know you ever even existed. Do you really think I would be party to the extortion of one of my closest friends?”

She let him struggle against Bull’s grip for a few more seconds. “I think he understands the situation, Bull. That’s enough.”

Bull let go. The man dropped to the ground heavily, turning his ankle. He yelped in pain. Bull dragged him up, whipping him around to face the wall, his arm pinned behind his back. Ponchard squealed as Bull put pressure on his shoulder. “Just so we’re clear. This is _my_ heart you’re dealing with. Even if the Inquisitor decides you should hold on to your pathetic life, I still haven’t made up my mind.”

“I’d take the coin if I were you,” Dorian drawled. “Trust me, it’s all there. Should just about cover the medical bills and the cost of new trousers, since you appear to have soiled yours. Very messy, Ponchard.” Dorian tut-tutted.

“Of course, Ser Pavus. Please. I beg you.” Ponchard’s voice was hoarse.

Bull let go, spinning the man back to face them. The merchant fumbled in his doublet for a small package. Bull yanked it out of his hands and thrust it back at Dorian. “Check it,” he rumbled, not breaking eye contact with Ponchard. “Make sure this slime isn’t cheating you.”

Dorian’s hands shook slightly as he unwrapped the amulet. “It’s fine, Bull. Let him go.”

Without Bull to hold him up, Ponchard crumbled to the ground weakly.  

“Pleasure doing business with you. Monsieur Ponchard,” Dorian said over his shoulder as he walked away.

In the light of the main square, Lavellan took a deep breath and grinned. “That was intensely satisfying. I feel like I’ve missed my calling. I don’t suppose the Carta needs elves, do they? Also, here,” she said, handing Dorian his pouch of coins.

“What? How did you -?” The pouch was definitely on the ground as they had walked away. Dorian was sure of it.

“I helped,” Cole said, popping into view. “He was hurting you. Months of counting, scrimping, scrabbling, turning dirt and blood into coin. He took your name, and your time. It was wrong.”

“Thank you, Cole.” Dorian said, swallowing hard.

“But now you’re sad, because now the end will come quicker. Should I give it back?” Cole blinked at him owlishly.

“No, Cole,” Lavellan said firmly. “I don’t want you to do that. But I do need your help. Can you come with me? There is a shop that sells nothing but hats.”

“I like hats,” Cole said, following after her.

“I’ve got some shopping of my own to do,” Bull said. “I’ll catch up with you later, kadan.”

“Please tell me you’ll buy some proper trousers. You’ve already deprived all of Thedas from the circus; there’s not enough fabric left for the tents. Won’t you have mercy on the children?” Dorian gave him puppy-dog eyes.

“Not a chance, little one. Not a chance.” Bull grinned as he walked away.

As satisfying as it had been to shake down Ponchard, Dorian’s mood quickly dipped. He sat in the cafe and ordered an expensive bottle of Orlesian white, a vintage they could never get in Skyhold. Maker knows he could afford it now. Cole was right. Though he’d saved up enough for the amulet, Dorian assumed it would still be several months until he would accumulate enough coin to actually travel back to Tevinter. He’d made the trip as a pauper once; he didn’t plan to do so again. Now, he could make the trip whenever he liked. Yet another decision he couldn’t put off.

A shadow fell across his table. Dorian blinked into the shaggy-shouldered silhouette. “Commander! How lovely to see you. Join me for a drink?”

Cullen pulled out a chair. “How are you, Dorian?”

“I’ve been better,” Dorian admitted. “But now that I have a handsome blond to help me drink this wine, things are looking up.” He poured a glass for Cullen.

The Commander took a tentative sip. “It’s quite good,” he said.

“Of course it is,” Dorian scoffed. “I have _excellent_ taste.” He gave Cullen a direct look.

Cullen chuckled. “Vira says you’re planning on leaving soon.” He swirled the wine in his glass, not looking at Dorian.

Dorian sighed. He squinted up at the sky. “Yes.” When no reply was forthcoming, he looked back at Cullen.

The Commander was still gazing thoughtfully at the gold liquid in his wineglass. “I never thought I would ever be so... close to a mage. I’ll miss you, I think.” A very slight frown creased his brow, and he took a drink quickly to cover the moment.

Dorian blinked rapidly. “Well, of course you will, my dear Commander. How could you not? All of Skyhold will be bereft without my presence.”

If there was a slight stutter to the mage’s reply, Cullen ignored it. His lips curled into his characteristic half-grin. “And Vira will be devastated, of course.”

“Quite right. As she should be.” Dorian sniffed. “Cullen, if you’re trying to talk me out of this....”

“I’m not,” Cullen said, his voice firm. “It can’t be easy for you now - no position, no title, no purpose. You don’t seem the type to want to rest on your laurels.”

“That’s part of it, yes.” Dorian said. “But also... If I truly believed my homeland was beyond hope, I wouldn’t miss it so much. For all my hard words about the Imperium, it is my home. I care for it a great deal. There’s so much _potential._ Sadly, we squander it. We refuse to acknowledge how far we’ve fallen, because pretending is easier. We _pretend_ the Qunari can be beaten. We _pretend_ we’re superior to everyone, even our own people. But... for all our faults, my people have many virtues. We are laden with history and culture. Tevinter is where Thedas truly began, remember. We treasure our past and preserve it. And we _care._ Deeply. About everything. We have no reserve, not in war, and not in love.”

Cullen smiled. “So I’ve noticed.”

Dorian flashed a tight grin. “I rather thought you might have. When I came here, it was because I knew that fighting the Venatori would do the most good for my country. Now? I must continue on that path, even if it takes me away from....” He paused, sipping his wine. “Lavellan has shown me how much difference one person can make. She makes monumental decisions that shape the entire world. How could I not consider some of my own? How could I aspire to any less?”

Cullen drained his glass. “That’s a noble sentiment, Dorian. I... admire you greatly for it. However,” he said, rising, “I’d like to remind you of one thing.”

“What’s that, Commander?” Dorian said.

“Vira might have changed the world, but she didn’t do it alone.” He laid a hand on Dorian’s shoulder briefly, before striding out of the cafe.

A few days later, they returned to Skyhold. It was sunset, Dorian’s favorite time at the keep, the red-gold glow shimmering over the mountains seemed to suit the place, somehow. As he was attempting to avoid calculating how many more Frostback sunsets he would be able to enjoy, he was summoned to the Inquisitor’s chamber. Grumbling, he made his way to her quarters. He hadn’t even changed out of his dusty travel clothes, much less had a proper bath.

“I assume you’re finally going to tell me what’s going on?” Dorian said, heaving himself into the chair across her desk.

Vira laughed. “That depends. Are you going to listen, or pout?”

“I make no promises,” Dorian said grandly.

There was a moment when Vira regarded Dorian, her head tilted to the side. “You know, Cullen is quite fond of you. He talks about you all the time.”

This was not what Dorian had been expecting to hear. “Well, that's to be expected. I am _incredibly_ charming,” he recovered.

Vira gave a tinkling laugh. “He often talks about your strategy at chess.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Chess? The game you two play? Well, one of them, anyway,” Vira grinned knowingly. “He says you make these bold moves with no thought of what’s to come after. Very dramatic, very brave, but sometimes very foolish. If he didn’t let you cheat, you’d never win, he says.”

“Let me cheat?” Dorian held a hand over his heart. “I’m offended.”

Leaning back in her chair, Vira laughed. “Funny thing is, I always beat Cullen. _Always._ I am an _excellent_ chess player.”

Dorian got the feeling she was trying to tell him something. Before he could ask for clarification, however, she spoke. “Have you given any thought to what you’ll actually do, once you return to Tevinter?”

Dorian opened his mouth to make a witty rejoinder, then shut it a moment later. He hadn’t. He had spent so much time agonizing over the decision that he’d put no thought into the specifics.

Vira leaned back in her chair. “If you return to Tevinter now, you’ll be alone. You’ll be treated as a hero by some few and vilified by the vast majority. Your family name won’t protect you, the Inquisition’s help will be limited, and since you refuse to use blood magic, you’ll be at a significant disadvantage.”

“Yes, but...” Dorian waved his hands in frustration. He leapt up from his seat and began to pace. “I can’t just do _nothing,_ don’t you see? I must return. All my talk of how terribly wrong things are back home, but what do I do about it? Nothing. If you can change minds, so can I. If it means proving that Tevinter can be better, that there’s hope for my homeland? I would do _anything._  Even if I have to.... I would rather give up all of this... Bull, you, my friends, and try to make a difference, than to stay and do nothing. And perhaps I will fail. Perhaps all that will happen is that I get a dagger between my ribs as soon as I set foot in Minrathous. But I would die knowing that I _tried._ It is no different than when I came to you from Redcliffe. I knew then there was little hope. But I had to _try.”_

He left off his nervous pacing and turned back to Vira, surprised to see her smiling at him.

“Dorian, my dear, prickly, fiery, hardheaded, courageous dragon slayer. Things _are_ different than when you came from Redcliffe. You just don’t see it.” Vira shook her head, pointing at the seat. He slumped back down.

“How? _How_ are things different, Vira?” Dorian’s voice was heavy with frustration. “Tevinter is still as big of a mess as when I left.”

“Two ways, actually. First, there’s no specific threat anymore. The issue is no longer Corypheus, but Tevinter itself. You’ll be fighting a way of life. That's one hell of a windmill to tilt. And secondly, and much more importantly, _you’re not alone._ You haven’t been alone since you almost kicked Bull’s ass in the practice ring. You don’t need to go dashing off to fix things by yourself. There’s another option.”

Vira leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “Things are much more tenuous here than you may realize. Orlais and Ferelden are stable for now, but that stability is extremely fragile. Both kingdoms must look inward to rebuild. The Chantry can offer no assistance. Leliana is about to be named Divine. She intends to start afresh, create a new Chantry from the ground up, with our support. It will be...” Vira searched for the right word.

“Bloody?” Dorian supplied.

“I was looking for a more polite way to say it, but yes. Cassandra will restore the Seekers, also with our assistance. Now that Cullen has proven that lyrium addiction can be beaten, she is going to turn her efforts towards rehabilitating those Templars who are willing, to build a new Order. But that will take time.”

Vira rose and walked over to the balcony, leaning on the door frame. “It will be challenge enough for the Inquisition to simply support all of these efforts. But that would ignore our biggest concern: what to do with the mages. There is nothing to protect them from their frightened countrymen, and the mages have no guidance to help them master their power. We have no circles, no Chantry, no Templars. Not that any of these worked particularly well, mind you. In the vacuum, more and more mages flock to us, seeking asylum and support. We are groaning at the seams, and it’s only going to get worse. What Thedas needs is a new way of thinking about magic, and I intend for the Inquisition to shape that future. I am creating a position of Grand Enchanter for the Inquisition. We need someone with a strong voice to show that mages need not be feared as potential abominations, but admired as leaders of men. Someone willing to look past the edicts of the Chantry, to bring together the confidence of the Imperium, the temperance of the south, the heritage of the Dalish. Someone just as at home in a palace as in a tavern. Someone incredibly talented, incredibly brave.”

“And incredibly dashing? Or is that just a bonus?” A hint of a smile began to bloom on Dorian’s face.

Vira grinned. “It can’t hurt. One lone guerrilla in Tevinter may not make a big difference, even someone as powerful and brave as you. But one man in control of the magic of the Inquisition, unfettered by political boundaries? Someone with spies and troops to command? As a force for change, there’s no question of which is more effective, even if that change isn’t all directed at Tevinter itself. If you take the job, I fully expect you to travel there regularly, both as an ambassador and to poach as much Tevene talent as you can get your beautiful hands on. We need more people like you. Maybe once their best and brightest have abandoned the Imperium, the Magisterium will sit up and take notice.” She leaned on her desk, looking down at him.

Dorian took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Why all the secrecy?” Dorian said suspiciously.

“It’s been in the works for quite a while. I had planned to offer it to you from the beginning. Vivienne was too tied up in Orlesian politics, and Solas was too....”

“Elfy?” Dorian snorted.

Vira laughed. “More than you could possibly realize. When I found out you were planning to go home.... How do I put this? If you had already formulated a plan, and not just some grand romantic idea -”

“I beg your pardon!” Dorian protested.

Vira laughed. _“If_ you had a _feasible_ plan, which you _don’t,_ I wouldn’t have offered this to you, even though you’re the best person for the job. I knew this position would give you an irresistible excuse to stay. So, either you’d stay and be miserable for not living up to your ideals, or you would leave and never forgive yourself for it. Either way, I’m not willing to put you through that. You’ve already sacrificed so much for the Inquisition, and frankly, you mean too much to me.”

Dorian blinked. “That’s... incredibly thoughtful of you, Inquisitor. I don’t know what to say. Except that I will certainly never play a game of chess with you. I’d have no chance. You play one hell of a long game.”

“I know,” she said sweetly. "You don’t have to answer now. Think about it.”

With a laugh, Dorian stood, taking her hands. “I don’t need to think about it. I was mentally designing my new robes. Crimson, you think? Or more of a scarlet? I can’t decide.”

“And will you be needing both sleeves this time?”

“Never,” Dorian said. “It’s against my religion.”

“Welcome to the Inquisition, Grand Enchanter Dorian. I think this calls for a drink. Shall we?” Vira held out her arm.

All of the remaining inner circle were in the Herald’s Rest, crowded around two tables that had been shoved together. A hush fell over them as Vira and Dorian walked in.

“Everyone, I’d like to present the Inquisition’s new Grand Enchanter,” Vira said, smiling at Dorian. He bowed floridly.

The cheer could be heard throughout the keep. Bull leapt up, knocking his chair over, and enfolded Dorian in a bear hug. He lifted the mage and spun him around and around, then planted a kiss on his lips. It went on for quite some time. People started to whistle and bang on the tables. It was heavenly.

Finally, Bull released him. Still somewhat dizzy, Dorian felt a goblet being shoved into his hand, and another set of hands guided him to a chair.

“Knew you’d stick around, Sparkler.” Varric said.

“Yes, well, I’d be lost without the sass, what can I say.” Dorian said, clinking glasses with the dwarf.

The night got rowdy very fast. Leliana was singing along with Maryden. Sera and Blackwall were having some kind of drinking contest involving Grey Whiskey. Josephine and Vira were attempting to get Cullen to play Wicked Grace, or at the very least, to get him to take his clothes off. Varric had somehow wound up in Cassandra’s lap. And Cole was clutching a stuffed nug that Krem sewed for him as if it might come to life and run away. Dorian tried to think of a time when he’d been happier. He gave up.

Bull sat beside him. “Kadan,” he said, leaning in close. “How about we get out of here, little one?”

Dorian drained his drink. “Amatus. It would be my pleasure.” He stood.

Bull, predictably, scooped him off his feet. The crowd cheered as Bull carried the slightly tipsy mage out of the tavern like a bride.

He set Dorian down at the entrance to his quarters. “Got a surprise for you, pretty little mage. You ready?” Bull opened the door.

Dorian gasped. The room had been completely redecorated with _extreme_ opulence, rivaling his private quarters in Minrathous. An ornate Orlesian bed had replaced the much-repaired wooden frame. There was a vanity for Dorian, with a proper mirror for shaving, not the dented piece of metal he’d been balancing precariously on a chest. Tapestries covered each wall, thick rugs covered the floor, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling. There was even an overstuffed chair by the window, with a stack of books at the ready. And Andraste’s ass, was that a _bath_ in the corner? It _was._ A lovely enameled basin, with brand-new water pipes installed through the wall. Looked to be big enough for Dorian and Bull, no less.

The mage gazed around in shock. “What is this for?”

“You,” Bull said. He hopped on to the bed and bounced a few times. “I figured you might like to stop living like a pauper, now that you’re the Grand Enchanter and all.”

“How did you afford all this, Bull?” Dorian ran his hands over the carved wood of the vanity.

“Unlike you, I’ve been getting paid all along. Most of it goes to the Chargers,” he admitted. “But still. I don’t lose all my coin to Varric, you know. And what else am I gonna spend it on? Vira keeps giving me weapons and armor.”

Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “All this - you bought it when we were in Val Royeaux, didn’t you? What if I’d said no?”

Bull shrugged. “Vira thought you’d say yes. We argued about it. She was sure. I told her if she was wrong, she’d have to pay for it. She just laughed at me. The bath was her idea. She had Gatsi set it up.”

For some reason, the thought of Vira arranging for him to have plumbing, knowing him so well that not only was she sure he would accept the position, but knowing what small luxury would bring him such great happiness was the tipping point. The enormity of it all crashing down on him. He wasn’t alone. He really wasn’t. Dorian sat on the edge of the bed. He was shaking.

“You okay, little one?” Bull sat up beside him.

Dorian shook his head. “No.”

“Lot to take in for one day?” Bull offered.

Dorian nodded.

“Hmmm,” Bull said. “Looks like you ran out of words, little one. Well. How about I give you back three? How about... ‘yes’,” he said, weaving his fingers into Dorian’s hair and pulling, hard and sudden. “And ‘please’,” now Bull was sinking his teeth into the nape of Dorian’s neck. “And ‘more’.” He ran his hand up Dorian’s thigh and gave it a hard smack.

“I....” Dorian gasped. “I have others,” he whispered.

“Other what?” Bull said, his lips buried in Dorian’s neck.

“Words. Three words. For you.”

Bull leaned back. He ran a thumb over Dorian’s jawline. “Do you, little one? Three words for me?” A hint of a smile played over the Qunari’s face. It was oddly shy, an unfamiliar expression. He brushed a finger over Dorian’s lips. “I’ll take them from you, little one. I’ll take anything you have to give.”

Dorian felt the merest tremor in that touch. It made him brave, to feel the Qunari shake. “I love you.”

Bull shook his head. “You can’t give me those words, little one.”

“Why not?” Dorian said, suddenly panicked.

“Because I’ll just give them right back.” Bull paused. “I love you, kadan.”

Relief flooded through Dorian. “You great brute, you almost stopped my heart,” he said, slapping Bull in the arm.

Bull grinned. “Hey, how about we see how strong this bed is? Wanna make sure I got my money’s worth.” He leaned over and began to nibble at Dorian’s exposed shoulder.

“Like you wouldn’t enjoy shaking down another merchant,” Dorian said. “I know how much you enjoyed making Ponchard shit his trousers. Though, I have to say, I found the experience quite gratifying.”

Bull started to laugh.

“What?” Dorian said. “You know I’m right. That insufferable prick had it coming to him. If I ever-”

Bull interrupted. “I never thought I’d have to say this, kadan, but: stop talking.”

Dorian’s mouth was open, ready to reply. He blinked, then clicked his teeth together in surprise. Something inside of him had shifted, something profound, and he’d barely noticed. It was as if one tiny stone had been all that held back a flood. Or perhaps it was three tiny stones.

He looked over at Bull, a wicked smile beginning to take hold. Without warning he pulled himself around to straddle the now-grinning Bull, shoving the man back on to the bed with a hand full of lightning. “Make me, Amatus.”

Bull did not have to be asked twice.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deus Ex Lavellan. I feel like Oprah. "YOU get a happy ending, and YOU get a happy ending, and YOU get a happy ending!" Whatever. It's my fic, I can make up an implausibly happy ending if I want. So there.


End file.
